


Tales of the Emblem

by metalloverben



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalloverben/pseuds/metalloverben
Summary: A collection of Fire Emblem stories from across the various games, including some of the earliest stories I wrote back during Invisible Ties on fanfiction.net. From Shadows of Valentia all the way back to The Dragon of Darkness and the Sword of Light. What are Morgan's mysterious origins? Can Laguz see water? Why does Camilla always cover half her face? Find out within! Contains all my old Fire Emblem one-shots and new content!





	1. Awakening - Time Child

**Author's Note:**

> So, for ease of my own digital housekeeping and to make my profile pages look a little neater, I’ve decided to collect all my Fire Emblem pieces and commissions in one place. I’m doing this separately for the Self Insert series, too, so these are all just one- or two-chapter pieces I’ve written in various Fire Emblem games (with about fifteen more planned as Patreon things orz), including some of my earliest pieces.  
> If a story was previously published, I’ve saved all the old reviews, so don’t worry, I didn’t lose anything. I cherish all your reviews and comments.   
> But yes! I hope you enjoy the short story anthology!

 

Morgan huffed, her breath coming out in clouds of white mist, as she tried to keep pace with her father; for a man pushing sixty he was in great shape and practically flew up the mountain path they were hiking on.

“Daaaaad!” she called, stumbling. “Slow down! I’m… I’m not half mountain-goat like you are!”

Robin stopped and turned, his laughter reaching Morgan’s ears and spurring her to catch up, if only to stop his mirth at her dawdling.

That’s how she would describe her nineteen years of existence, though; struggling to catch up to her father’s level in all things. After all, he was a great hero! She had some pretty big shoes to fill.

_General Robin, the greatest tactical mind Ylisse has ever seen,_ Morgan repeated sourly in her head. _Saviour of the world, leader of men, defeater of kings! And what am I? Morgan, she of the I-can’t-even-hike-up-a-stupid-mountain. How did he get so fit, anyway? All I ever see him do is read those books and write his own!_

The young apprentice-tactician could easily see why Severa adopted the attitude she had with Lady Cordelia. But Morgan loved her father too much to ever act so frostily towards him.

She huffed, breath coming out in a cloud as she decided that lamenting her short-comings weren’t going to get her up the mountain any quicker.

By the time Morgan caught up her father had already set up a small fire in an alcove shielded from the wind and was setting about brewing tea.

“You look like you could use a little pick-me-up,” he said, smiling through the thick grey beard hiding much of his face. “It’s one of Virion’s blends. I’ve been saving it for just such an occasion. I also swiped some of those tea-cakes that your mother won’t usually let us eat, so dig in.”

“You just couldn’t help but rub in the fact you’re a better hiker than me,” she huffed, practically falling into the alcove and leaning against the cold rock, pulling the hood of her own jacket off of her shoulder length navy blue hair.

“Well, that too,” Robin admitted with a chuckle.

* * *

 

As they ate Morgan was unhappy to see it was starting to snow again.

“Dammit,” she muttered, pulling her light jacket closer about her slender frame.

“Your mother did tell you to take something thicker,” Robin said, extinguishing the small fire with a flick of his wrist and a small wind spell.

“I didn’t think it would be snowing,” Morgan complained, moving to stand closer to the warm embers.

How long would this trip take, Morgan wondered. She could use fire spells to keep herself warm, but exhausting herself by using up all her mana in this treacherous terrain would be a bad idea. She would just have to rough it and hope they came across a town or a rest-stop somewhere in the mountains-

Robin shook his head and pulled off his own coat, reading his daughter’s thought process clear as day.

“Put this on over your jacket,” he instructed.

Morgan wordlessly took the coat. _His_ coat; the coat he had worn for forty years, fought three separate campaigns in, worn with pride through countless coronations, political meetings and even weddings and funerals. The faded black leather was worn almost to the texture of silk, but thanks to a spell the headmistress of the Royal Ylissean Mage Academy, Lady Miriel, had cast during the war against Plegia some thirty-five years ago and a number of hexes her Auntie Tharja had cast around the same time, it still looked almost brand new. Morgan also knew that it was warmer than anything she owned, and tough enough to turn most glancing blows.

“Are you sure, dad?” she asked, rubbing the cloth between her fingers.

_So light… and yet I’ve seen it stop arrows!_ She thought, eying the garment with wonder.

“I’m already wearing a blanket as a cloak, so yes,” Robin answered from behind her.

When Morgan looked up she burst out laughing. Her father, the General, the Grandmaster, the world-renowned tactical genius, was indeed wearing a thick blanket as a cloak, pinned at the neck to create a sort of hood.

In a word, he looked ridiculous. Morgan stifled her giggles, imagining the pained reactions her mother and her Aunt Tharja would be having if they could see him. The students at the School for Tacticians would never take him seriously again if they could see him now.

“Tactical adaptability and creativity,” he said proudly, swishing his creation about in the snow before posing heroically with his legs spread wide and his fists oh his hips. “It’s what got me where I am today!”

“Standing on a frozen mountain wearing a blanket as a cloak,” Morgan teased as she slipped into his coat.

Instantly she was hit by the aroma it carried; mother had once complained that the coat stank of a thousand battles and a hundred land’s worth of sweat, but all Morgan could think was just how much it smelled like her father. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but it almost felt like she would be walking around wearing one of his hugs.

“Many have mocked my tactical brilliance over the decades, my very young pupil,” Robin said mock-seriously as he shouldered his pack again. “And they’re all dead. Remember that.”

* * *

 

“What are we doing on this Grima-forsaken mountain, anyway?” Morgan asked, again out of breath as she followed in her father’s wake.

The snow had, mercifully, stayed light, but it was still cold and they were still trudging further into the mountains, away from hot beds and sweet cakes. Dark clouds threatened with a snowstorm, too, so Morgan was in a hurry to do whatever weird training exercise her father had come up with and go home.

When her father had suggested a trip to Regna Ferox, Morgan had thought they would be going to visit Khan Flavia, Sir Lon’qu or even Old Man Gregor, but he had led them to an obscure village at the base of an even more obscure mountain range, all at the beck and call of an obscure legend, and in the name of Morgan’s training.

Her father, admittedly, did love his obscurity.

_“You have to get out and see the world more,”_ he always said. _“You can only learn so much from books and tomes; the real adventures are out there waiting! Just… try not to get dragged into leading any wars or anything. That never ends well.”_

“We’re almost there,” Robin said reassuringly as they crested the slope they were climbing.

Morgan shook the icy cobwebs from her brain as she jogged the last few feet to join her father, standing at the top of the mountain and-

Morgan’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the spectacle before them.

An ancient, snow shrouded fortress built into the mountains sat half buried by ice and earth, its massive stone walls and parapets breaking the natural skyline of the mountains as they reached for the heavens. Morgan could tell at a glance that it was abandoned, but there was a certain aura of majesty about it that screamed of a bygone age of heroes and magic.

_Cynthia and Owain would love this place_ , Morgan thought as they began to descend, thinking fondly of her childhood friends and fellow ‘Justice Cabal’ members.

Morgan snickered just thinking about the silly games they used to play; heroes vanquishing villains and monsters, just like their parents had, inventing fanciful narratives and ‘super-secret’ combo attacks that more often than not ended with one or more of them on their rear, sporting bruises. She remembered the way that Princess Lissa would admonish them while dragging Owain away, while Queen Sumia would simply grin and shake her head as she began to neaten Cynthia’s hair. Then her mother would be there, quietly asking if she’d had fun…

“Stop laughing at my blanket,” her father said, pretending to be offended in that joking way he always did.

“But it’s so fluffy and soft!” Morgan persisted, running her bare hands all over her father’s back. “It’s like you’re carrying Yarne or one of his kits!”

“I could throw you off this cliff and no one would ever know.”

“Nah. You’d miss me too much.”

“You were so much more fun when you believed my little threats like that,” Robin sighed, dropping his head a little. “I guess my baby’s all grown up now. Soon you’ll be graduating, and I’ll be all alone…”

Robin let out a very fake sniffle, looking over his shoulder with big puppy-dog eyes before sighing and looking back again.

“Oh no, Daddy!” Morgan squealed in a high-pitched voice, grabbing hold of her father’s arm. “I’ll be good, I promise! Don’t throw me off the cliff!”

Robin laughed, tugging at his arm and trying to regain his balance.

“All right, all right! Release me, foul creatu--WAUGH!”

“Fath--EEK!”

Too busy playing, Robin and Morgan had both missed the patch of ice on the ground, and both slipped, falling dangerously close to the edge of the trail. And the cliff.

“That was close,” Morgan breathed, eyeing the cliff.

“I should really know better than that,” her father said, shaking his head. “‘Winter-travel rule one: watch your footing’.”

He had fallen much closer to the edge, Morgan noticed with a quick pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry, father,” Morgan said, rising and offering him her hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” he said, smiling up at her.

A loud crack broke the mountain ambiance, drowning out the wind for a second.

For a split second time itself seemed to freeze in the frigid mountain air, the light snow in the wind coming to a halt as the world stopped turning.

Robin and Morgan’s eyes both went wide, before everything sped back up and Robin fell backwards, tumbling off the cliff and disappearing into the icy mist that wrapped the mountain.

“FATHER!” Morgan shrieked, throwing herself to her stomach and reaching over the cliff.

_Too slow; far, far too slow…_

Tears sprung to Morgan’s eyes as her father slid down the cliff into the blinding snow and wind, his face the picture of calm collectedness as he scrambled for a hand-hold on his way down, to no avail.

“FATHER!” Morgan called again more desperately, her voice cracking as she fell to her knees at the cliff’s edge.

Seconds passed, and Morgan began panicking further, expecting the worst, before she could just make out a voice over the wind.

“No…” she muttered, tears springing to her eyes. “No… no, no, no…”

“I’m alright!” her father suddenly shouted from somewhere beneath her. “There’s a ledge down here! I should be able to climb down safely! Head for the Fortress! Meet me in the entry hall!”

“Alright!” she shouted back, choking down her tears.

“I love you, Cupcake!” he called. “Stay safe, okay!?”

“I love you too, dad!”

_He’s okay!_ She thought, relief making her momentarily too weak to stand. _Thank Naga, he’s alright! Gods… Mom would’ve killed me…_

* * *

 

Morgan collapsed as she entered the fortress, crawling out of the intensifying snowstorm outside and behind a pillar, trying to catch her breath. She had practically run there after she had become separated from her father, vigilantly watching her footing the entire way.

She had resisted the urge to look for him in the storm, visibility dropping to barely a few meters. She’d been a little worried that she had gotten lost on her way there, but after banging her shin into the first of the massive stone steps she had found the fortress without further incident.

The entry hall she found herself huddling in was, in one word, epic. Strategically placed windows, their glass long since shattered and gone, let in the perfect amount of light, amplified by the layer of ice on half of the surfaces, making the interior just as bright as the outside. Huge stone pillars, like the one Morgan was leaning on, held up a high, arched ceiling, and doorways sat invitingly, coercing Morgan with the promise of knowledge and treasure long since forgotten by human minds.

Having caught her breath, Morgan stood, convincing herself that her father would appreciate finding her with a roaring fire to warm himself with. Choosing one of the doorways at random Morgan set off with the intention of finding something worth burning, leaving her pack with a note attached to it reading ‘gone to find stuff to burn. Don’t eat all the tea cakes without me. M’ near the pole, easily visible to anyone entering the hall.

Hopefully he wasn’t too far behind her.

* * *

 

“Wowee…” Morgan breathed, looking around in awe.

The girl had travelled to what she roughly guessed was the centre of the Fortress, not finding anything to burn, but still pushing on if for no other reason than she had already started. The huge building was abandoned, but still felt somehow warm, like someone still lived there. And not in a creepy ghost way, either, Morgan realized. She may very well be trespassing in some ancient power’s home here.

Morgan stepped deeper into the room she had found, a huge, circular room with an altar in the centre, a tear-shaped groove carved into the middle of it.

The young trainee-tactician started when she realised that it was a carving of the Mark of Naga, the symbol of House Ylisse.

Morgan tore her eyes away from the floor and walked around the outside walls, marvelling at the beautifully carved murals of heroes fighting monsters and beasts, but strangely never each other. At the other end of the room there was a huge mural of Naga and Grima locked in awesome aerial combat, breathing fire at each other as human, Manakete and Taguel heroes fought dark, vaguely humanoid shapes with claws and piercing red eyes picked out in ruby gems.

“This is so cool!” Morgan muttered, completely absorbed in the mural.

“Morgan? There you are!”

Morgan jumped a foot into the air. She had been so preoccupied with the mural she had completely missed the sound of her father approaching!

“Dad!” she shouted happily, spinning and starting to run towards him, only to stop short.

She wasn’t quite the mage he was yet, but something seemed… off to her. Her magical sixth sense screamed for her attention, warning her that something was wrong with this scene. But he was standing right in front of her, completely fine and unhurt, smiling his lopsided grin through his beard the way he always did, arms crossed and leaning back, his long grey hair fluttering in the slight breeze in the hallway.

“Where’s your blanket?” she asked nervously, approaching much more cautiously.

“I lost it when I fell,” he answered simply.

No joke. Just a simple statement of facts. Something was seriously wrong with him. He’d been so proud of his blanket-cloak.

“Are you… okay?” Morgan asked, her concern growing. “You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

“I’m fine, Morgan,” he said, uncrossing his arms.

As he did, Morgan noticed an evil looking purple brand on the back of his hand.

Morgan started backing away, hand falling to the sword strapped to her hip. “I don’t know who or what you are, but stay away from me.”

“Child, it’s me,” the imposter wearing her father’s face said, stepping forward, still smiling her father’s lopsided grin.

Then she noticed that he was perfectly dry; not a bit of damp or even a lingering ice-crystal on him. After coming in out of that storm, such a thing would have been impossible.

“I said stay back!” Morgan warned, drawing her sword. “He never called me by my full name! He never called me ‘child’! And my father would have hit me with some sort of sneak attack while my attention was elsewhere! What have you done with him!?”

The imposter tsked, flicking his wrist to the side. A dark cloud appeared behind him, coalescing into a perfect copy of the coat she was currently wearing. As the coat coalesced, his hair shrunk and his beard disappeared; he also seemed to age in reverse until he looked barely older than Morgan.

“I was hoping to do this the easy way,” the imposter said, drawing up his hood over a messy head of short brown hair. “No matter. You will serve me in the end, regardless.”

Without warning the man-that-was-not-her-father thrust out his hands, dark fire shooting in a jet towards Morgan. She barely had time to scream before the flames found her and she shut her eyes tight, waiting for the pain. However, instead of searing heat, she felt nothing. Warily cracking first one eye then the other she was surprised to see a translucent green barrier protecting her.

“What in the…” she muttered in amazement.

Across the barrier, with a jet of black fire still licking futilely at it, the imposter howled in irritation, sending another burst of power into his spell.

“Run,” a disembodied woman’s voice begged, no louder than a whisper.

Without further urging Morgan spun on her heel and ran as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her, turning randomly down hallways and not slowing.

“You can run,” the imposter called after her, “But I will catch you, and you will be my thrall!”

A very draconian roar shook the walls as she ran, followed by bone-chilling laughter, prompting Morgan to push herself harder.

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap,” Morgan repeated over and over as she pelted down the Fortress’ hallways.

She stopped dead when another green barrier popped up in a four-way intersection.

“This way,” the voice from earlier said again, distinctly coming from the left path.

Not having anything to lose, Morgan followed the voice, reasoning that it sounded far less evil than that of the imposter’s. After a few more twists and turns Morgan found herself bursting out into the harsh white daylight onto a high balcony, buffeted by alpine winds and sudden cutting cold. All of this went barely noticed as she glanced up at what was waiting for her.

There, standing in the middle of the balcony, exposed to all of the elements but apparently not even being slightly touched by them, was a beautiful woman.

She stood, unperturbed by the blistering wind or biting cold, the snow seeming to dance around her long, green hair, wearing a beautiful, shimmering white gown that was in no way winter clothing.

“There is not much time, Child of Destiny,” she said softly, her words reaching Morgan’s ears unnaturally over the howling wind. “You must escape now.”

“Who are you!?” Morgan shouted to be heard. “Where’s my father!?”

The woman looked down, sadness radiating from her frame in waves through the mana in the air. Morgan could feel it like a physical thing, it was so potent.

“He has been slain,” she said sadly.

“No!” Morgan shrieked in denial.

“YES!” the imposter’s voice rumbled from behind her.

He stood in the doorway just behind her, physical darkness radiating out around him like a cloud.

“He was weak, so I erased him! In this timeline he never had cause to become strong and become what I am! What we were always destined to be, in this and every other timeline!”

“Be silent, Grima,” the woman said, her soft words hiding an edge of steel.

Morgan gaped and stepped back, Grima smiling with her father’s face, his mouth distending horribly to reveal far too many razor sharp fangs.

The Dark Dragon, enemy of all life and destroyer of the previous age, stood before her in her father’s skin. And he wanted her for some nefarious plan that would no doubt end in her death. Morgan gulped, staring into the fathomless black orbs set in her father’s eye sockets.

“Come now, Nagi,” Grima purred. “Surely you would let this poor girl serve her father’s will?”

“You are not my father!” Morgan shouted defiantly, fear forgotten, brandishing her sword even as the tears froze on her cheeks. “I’ll die before I serve you!”

Whether he really was the Dark Dragon or not was a moot point; he had killed her father and now he would pay.

“Morgan,” the woman, Nagi, whispered in her ear, appearing at Morgan’s side. “You must walk a different path.”

Ignoring the woman, Morgan shouted a wordless warcry as she charged at Grima, sword held in a high-guard position her mother had taught her.

Grima seemed to chuckle as he lazily lifted a hand and Morgan went flying backwards. She couldn’t be sure, though, as the second Grima’s spell had hit her everything became hazy and all she could hear was a loud ringing. Sobbing once in frustration as she forced herself to roll to her knees the girl looked upwards. Nagi stood before her, holding out one perfect hand and deflecting another of Grima’s jets of flame with a green barrier.

“You must escape,” she said, strain evident in her voice. “I cannot match him for long.”

“Escape where!?” Morgan cried, looking around.

They were at the top of the fortress; there was literally nowhere for her to go. She doubted she could outrun Grima anyway, but she had no intention of running from the monster that had murdered her father.

Nagi smiled. “All will be made clear, child.”

The strange woman pointed with her other hand, and a swirling green vortex appeared in the air behind Morgan.

“NO!” Grima howled, his face distending further and becoming reptilian, eyes glowing a deep, baleful red. “SHE IS _MINE_!”

“Go,” Nagi gasped, faltering and falling to one knee as Grima poured even more flames, even more power, into the barrier.

Morgan didn’t have time to think, instead doing something her father had always cautioned her against, and raced for the portal, acting on instinct.

Grima howled his frustration wordlessly, Nagi shrieked in pain as her barrier finally collapsed, and Morgan knew she was unprotected now. A few more steps and she’d be at the portal, though…

An icy hand grabbed a hold of her hair as she reached the portal, yanking her head back.

Without turning Morgan struck out with her sword, breaking free as Grima roared once more in pain and frustration and launching herself into the portal. Shouting defiance Grima sent a final spell after Morgan, who instantly felt the world go cold and her thoughts slip away as the portal enveloped her.

* * *

 

Morgan woke in a field, hand instantly going to her head. She remembered… Nothing.

Sitting up gingerly, Morgan looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.

“Where am I?” Morgan asked the air groggily.

Standing, she turned in a circle.

_Mountains, mountains, mountains… Ah! A path! May as well see where it leads. Maybe father’s waiting at the end of it._

Smiling at the thought of catching up to her father, Morgan held his coat closer around her as she walked, humming happily to herself.

_I’m sure he’s not that far ahead. He’ll know what happened._

**_Finished 2014_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2019: I wrote this in, like, an afternoon back in 2019 when I was still working on the start of the Valm arc of Invisible Ties. I had no idea what I was doing with it, honestly. I just… really wanted to get to Morgan.


	2. Awakening - A Very Invisibly Tied Christmas

 

Ylisstol at the end of the year was a cold place; Robin had even taken to wearing his coat indoors, something that the numerous ladies in his life had tried to put a stop to a long time ago. To little success, one might add; Robin loved his coat almost as much as his daughter.

The city was covered in a thick layer of sparkling snow, and icicles hung from window panes. The Royal Library Robin spent most of his time in didn’t have a fireplace, but rather than cart the staggering amount of books he read in a day someplace warmer, the tactician simply donned his warm-weather gear and braved the sub-zero temperatures, plumes of white breath appearing over the books he would read. Every so often he would have to warm his hands with a small fire spell after they would go numb, but he’d gotten the timing down so that he’d stopped dropping the books and losing his place. Or accidentally setting them on fire…

It was one of these days, just after the latest night of snowfall, that Lissa interrupted his usual routine of spending most of the day sitting in the Royal Library, nose buried in a good book.

“Christmas?” Robin asked curiously, looking up.

Lissa nodded energetically.

“Yeah! There’s so many of us now, so it’s going to be great all getting to celebrate together!”

Robin quirked a brow.

“You remember I have amnesia, right?” He asked. “Can you… er… explain what ‘Christmas’ is, exactly? I don’t think I came across it while I was travelling…”

A shocked look crossed the blonde princess’ face for a moment before she started bouncing excitedly again.

“It’s a holiday where we all get together and celebrate being one big, happy family! We eat a heap of tasty food, exchange gifts, get really, really drunk…”

“You had me at ‘eat a heap’,” Robin said with a grin.

Lissa let out an involuntary shiver as she continued to explain the holiday.

“It’s freezing in here!” she complained when she finished. “How do you sit here like this all day?”

Robin grinned.

“Well, for starters I like the peace and quiet,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Also, I’m wearing every article of clothing I own, so that helps.”

Lissa shivered again, pulling the yellow shawl she was wearing tighter around her shoulders.

“So explain to me how I’m supposed to afford buying _everyone_ a gift.”

Lissa shook her head.

“There’s so many of us I don’t think anyone’s buying every single Shepherd a gift. Well… maybe Frederick… but I was thinking we just get the people most important to us presents, you know?”

“I look particularly good in yellow, for the record,” Lissa added with a sly wink.

Robin chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m onto your fiendish plan now, woman!” he said theatrically, making a show of returning to his reading.

“Away with you! Thou shalt not influence my gift-buying!”

* * *

Robin let his mind wander as he went through his nightly ritual or training, bathing and grooming before bed.

Down on the floor of his room in the palace he considered who to buy gifts for as he counted the push-ups he was doing in the back of his mind.

_Morgan’s easy_ , he thought. _I already have the perfect idea for her. Hrm… Virion I could get something tea-related; maybe see if Anna has some rare or exotic blends in stock. I should probably get Tharja something. She’ll hex the crap outta me if I don’t. Chrom and Sumia I can get… uh… I’ll come back to them. At least I can buy for them as a couple. Cordelia’s as easy as finding some trashy romance novel. Since Lissa told me about it I suppose I should get her and Lon’qu a bottle of wine or something…_

Finishing his count of… well, he had stopped counting and now his arms felt like they were about to fall off, but still Robin rose to his feet, shaking out his tired arms as he turned around and sat back down, starting on the sit-ups.

_What do I get for Chrom and Sumia?_ He wondered as he crunched his abs. _A bottle of wine seems a little… I dunno. Pathetic, considering they’re the Exalt and his Queen. At least any wine I could afford. Hrm… I could commission them a portrait or something? Nah, that’s tacky. Oh! I’ll talk to Anna about getting a double-pass to her cousin’s hot-spring resort! Genius! Sumia’s been hinting at a second honeymoon for ages now!_

Robin let his mind go blank, a satisfied expression on his face as he continued to exercise.

Apart from the occasional raid on bandits his life as Tactician of the Shepherds had been pretty breezy; it was too easy to let himself get rusty, something that could prove to be deadly given his line of work. So he’d begun to train and exercise daily; a quick jog with the Ylisstol Regular Army’s recruits in the morning, followed by swordsmanship training with Chrom and whoever else was on the training field (usually Sully, Lon’qu or Lucina), and push-ups and sit-ups before bed.

So far it had worked well; he wasn’t quite as good as he had been in the past, but he was still better than most of the soldiers around the capital. Excluding, of course, the majority of the Shepherds, who could all still mop the training-grounds with his face if they really wanted to.

Robin winced as he remembered the last time he had trained with Lucina; the blue-haired Princess from the future was easily one of the best warriors in the realm, right up there with her father Chrom. She had beaten him mercilessly for forty-five minutes, all in the name of ‘training’.

Robin let himself rest on the floor, lying spread-eagled and breathing heavily, trying to ignore the familiar burning sensation in his stomach muscles as he cooled off, his count finished.

Lucina was one person whose skills hadn’t dulled with the peace; she was still as dedicated and deadly as she had always been; which in turn motivated Chrom to stay fit, too. Robin maintained his fitness more out of boredom than anything else, but-

The tactician bolted back into a sitting position, eyes wide as he cursed his own stupidity.

_What the hell do I get for Lucina!?_

* * *

“Oooh, I can’t believe you asked me to come shopping with you!” Morgan exclaimed gleefully, her breath misting in front of her face as she spoke in the cold Ylisstol morning.

She was clinging to Robin’s arm like he was a life preserver, both of them clad in their thick woollen jumpers under the twin black coats they wore.

Morgan’s coat wasn’t a copy of Robin’s, though; it was the exact same coat, just from twenty years or so in the future.

Neither he nor Morgan was sure how old they were, both suffering from the same sort of magical amnesia; Robin had ‘decided’ he was twenty-five, and Morgan, his daughter from the future, had ‘decided’ she was eighteen. Neither of them remembered their birthdays, either. They simply used the dates that they had been discovered by others and taken in; Robin’s was in the fifth month, when the snow had melted and the days were beginning to warm up again; and Morgan’s was, funnily enough, at the same time, just a few weeks earlier than Robin’s.

“So where’re we going first?” Morgan asked excitedly, looking up at her father, her blue eyes twinkling happily beneath her long brown bangs.

_Bugger my previous life,_ Robin thought for the thousandth time, a big smile emerging on his face, _Everything I need is right here in Ylisstol._

“I don’t know, Tactician Morgan,” Robin said, leading her to make the call. “What do you think we should get first?”

Morgan scrunched up her face in thought as they joined the crowd of people in the shopping district.

“We should probably check Anna’s store first,” Morgan decided after a moment of thought. “She usually has the biggest variety of goods, and she’s always fun to start a shopping trip with!”

_Yeah, when you’re not paying…_ Robin thought glumly, remembering the last time the plucky red-haired merchant had convinced him into buying manakete scales.

_What did I even need those stupid things for again, anyway?_ Robin wondered as he let his daughter drag him through the marketplace, threading expertly around other people and through gaps between groups that even as an experienced battlefield tactician Robin had missed.

_She’s been spending too much time with Severa_ , Robin thought with a grin as Morgan glared down a group of teenage boys ogling her as they passed. _But I guess there are worse people she could be sponging the personalities off of…_

Anna had opened her store not long ago, and it was already constantly busy. She’d even had to enlist the aid of a few of the younger Shepherds with nothing better to do with their time to help maintain it, business was so good.

As they came upon the storefront Nah, the deceptively young-looking manakete that had travelled back in time with Lucina and the others, waved a cheerful greeting as she swept the snow off the sidewalk outside Anna’s store.

“Morning, Nah!” Morgan called out cheerfully.

Nah smiled happily as she greeted Morgan and her father. It was no secret that both of them were exceedingly easy to get along with and generally well-liked throughout the capital, so Robin was used to being treated in a friendly manner.

“Good morning, guys!” she said from beneath a thick pink scarf obscuring the better part of her face. “What’s going on?”

“Just doing a little Christmas shopping,” Morgan replied cheerfully.

Robin carefully extracted his arm from his daughter’s vice-like grip, content to start on his list while she chatted with her friend. Inside the shop Inigo was humming and dancing around like no one was watching, arms laden with goods he was putting on display.

“Good morning, twinkle-toes,” Robin said enthusiastically.

The notorious ladies-man jumped a little, his quick reflexes being the only things keeping him from spending an afternoon explaining to Anna why her inventory was all damaged.

“Gods, Robin!” the young man groaned, blushing bright red with embarrassment. “Warn a man before you sneak up on him!”

Robin laughed, stepping in place a few times to indicate how loud his boots were on the wooden floor of the shop.

“Who’s sneaking?” Robin asked playfully, taking the top box Inigo was carrying for him. “You were just so caught up dancing to the… what does your mother call it? The ‘song of life’?”

“Oh gods…” Inigo moaned, blushing brighter as Robin laughed.

The tactician helped the boy set out the colourful little glass baubles in the boxes, finishing up at about the same time Morgan and Nah returned inside.

“So where’s your boss today?” Robin asked, setting the now empty box aside behind the counter.

Inigo shrugged. “She said she wouldn’t be gone long.”

Robin nodded.

“Okay,” the tactician said. “We’ll just have a look around in the meantime.”

The shop was strangely empty that morning, but Robin wasn’t complaining; he wasn’t the social butterfly his daughter was, and crowds just irritated him. Looking through a wine-rack along the back wall he spotted one with a label in Feroxi writing, and decided that it would do for Lissa and Lon’qu.

_One down._

Robin placed the bottle on the counter Inigo was currently leaning against lazily, flicking through one of the various pulp-magazines he found so interesting.

“More coming,” Robin advised.

The other mad didn’t even look up, just nodding as he read.

Morgan and Nah were busily whispering over near where Anna kept the clothes, occasionally casting glances in Robin’s direction.

_Not hard to guess what they’re doing over there…_

Robin moved to the section of the store occupied by imported foods, looking for strange and exotic teas. He picked one up apparently hailing from Valm.

_Rosanne Caravan… A nutty blend of berries and herbs… eh; good enough._

The small container of tea-leaves made it to the counter next to the wine, Inigo lazily turning another page as Morgan and Nah giggled quietly in the corner.

All four Shepherds looked up as the door slammed open and the red-haired proprietor of the shop strutted in, a huge successful smile on her face.

“Who’s the greatest merchant in the world!?” she asked excitedly.

“You are,” Nah and Inigo answered in bored monotones without looking up, having gotten used to the question some time ago.

“Damn straight!” she said, adopting her usual pose with her finger pressed to her chin when she spotted Robin.

“Howdy, stranger,” she said with a playful wink. “Here for more spell reagents?”

Robin groaned.

“No,” he said quickly. “I actually wanted to talk to you about getting a pass to your cousin’s hot spring resort for Chrom and Sumia.”

Anna squealed and clapped her hands.

“Money-money-money!” she chanted, leading him to the back office. “That’s what I like to hear first thing in the morning!”

Robin rolled his eyes as he followed her into the back office. He’d gotten used to her antics during the time they had travelled around the world together, but it still made him cringe to think about how highly she valued money.

Robin let out a low whistle as he walked into the ‘office’, which was really more of a storage room with a desk in the corner.

Stacks and stacks of summer and spring clothes were piled in one corner, and crates of knick-knacks and junk were sitting, waiting for the merchant to price them so that Inigo or Nah could display them in the shop.

“Hold on, I got just the thing you’re after…” Anna muttered, leaning deep into a crate in the back of the room, legs flailing in the air.

She made a little squeak of victory, emerging and holding a sheet of thick paper.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to Robin.

The tactician accepted the paper and read it out loud.

“’You are cordially invited to the Outrealm’s hottest tourist attraction… the Outrealm Hotsprings. Good for two entries to the grounds and the springs, a couples suite room, meals and yukata rental’. Yep, this is perfect. How much?”

Anna sighed happily, letting her head loll backwards.

“I love those words…”

Robin clicked his fingers a few times to get her attention back.

“Anna? Anna!? How much?”

She perked up and pressed her index finger to her chin, frowning deep in thought for a moment.

“How about… five gold?”

Robin’s jaw dropped.

“Five gold!?” he repeated incredulously. “Even including travel expenses that’s outrageous!”

Anna huffed at Robin, snatching the papers back.

“It just so happens that the Springs are a very popular destination at this time of year,” she said. “Usually they’re booked out months in advance, but because I like you I’m giving up my personal reservation for you.”

“I think you mean ‘permanent’ reservation,” Robin countered. “Two gold.”

Anna feigned shock.

“Are you mad!” she cried. “Do you know how much people would pay for this suite!? People would kill for it! Four gold.”

Robin chuckled. He was on to her game now.

“Anna, I’ve been there. Remember? Unless this package comes with personal servants to wait on them hand and foot it’s not worth more than three gold, tops, and you know that’s still ripping me off. So three gold coins and you sell me the tea leaves and wine I have put aside at the counter at cost.”

Anna made a show of sighing and looking defeated.

“It was so much more fun before you learned to haggle,” she said with a pout as Robin dug out the required coins.

“For you, maybe,” Robin said with a grin as he dropped the three golden coins into the merchant’s outstretched hand.

Anna winked, dexterously making the coins disappear up her sleeve with a flick and turn of her hand.

“Okay, now shoo!” she said, pressing the paper back into Robin’s hands and chasing him out of the room. “I’ve got lots of work to do for the holiday rush! Go on! Scat!”

Robin tried not to laugh as the manic merchant pushed him out of her office/storage space and back out into the main store.

Morgan was already holding a large brown bag close to her chest, leaning against the counter and talking idly to Inigo while she waited for Robin.

“There you are!” she said in mock indignation. “What took so long?”

Robin snickered.

_Way too much time around Severa…_

“Have you ever tried haggling with Anna?” Robin asked as he stood before the counter.

Morgan broke out in her usual happy grin.

“Okay. Yeah. Point.”

Robin proceeded to pay for the bottle of wine and small container of tea, and he and Morgan bade Inigo and Nah farewell, exiting the shop back onto the frigid Ylisstol streets.

“Okay, where to now?” Robin asked as Morgan resumed her position on his arm.

“Bookstore!” she announced happily.

* * *

*chack*

“So how did your epic quest of shipping with a teenaged girl go today?” Virion asked across the chessboard with a superior smirk.

*chack*

“Well enough,” Robin replied, making his move confidently. “Are you going to this… ‘Christmas’ celebration Lissa’s planning?”

*chack*

“But of course!” Virion replied, placing his pawn exactly where Robin knew he would.

“One must have a reason to wear the ruffliest-of-ruffled shirts; they are simply not every-day wear.”

*chack*

“Have you done your gift-shopping yet, Ruffles?” Robin asked, taking Virion’s recently moved pawn.

*chack*

“But of course,” the archer replied. “I have a gift for every one of the lovely ladies in our little group. Checkmate, by the way.”

Robin stared at the board in disbelief for a moment before seeing Virion’s feint.

“You spend too much time playing this game,” Robin said with a chuckle as he laid his king on its side.

“I disagree,” Virion said, leaning back and sipping from his teacup. “It is just exceedingly simple to defeat you when you are distracted. Tell old Virion what troubles have befallen you; what story of woe are you keeping from your dearest of friends.”

Robin rolled his eyes and chuckled, sipping from his own teacup.

“I don’t know what to get for L-” Robin caught himself before he gave away his secret.

“Uh… for, ah, someone important to me,” he corrected himself lamely.

Virion chuckled, giving his friend a knowing grin as he tucked a strand of long blue-silver hair behind his ear.

“Well, I cannot give you shopping advice if I do not know the lady you pine after.”

“Har har,” Robin said sarcastically. “Nice try. Just give me some vague ideas; I’ll go from there.”

* * *

Robin sat back, eying the small mound of gifts on the desk in his room.

A bottle of wine for Lissa and Lon’qu.

The hot spring pass for Chrom and Sumia.

Morgan’s present, already safely wrapped in thick brown paper.

Virion’s tea leaves.

The trashiest romance novel he could possibly find for Cordelia; _A Night under the Feroxi Moon_. Just the title made him want to retch.

This just left Tharja and Lucina to shop for.

Tharja he would get a gift for the next day; he’d just go into the mage district of the markets, a few small buildings separated from the other shops in the uncommon event of magical explosions (they still happened often enough for the shops to have been situated away from the others, though…).

An idea of what to get for Chrom’s future daughter still eluded him, though.

Robin flopped backwards on the bed, letting out a deep sigh and dropping his hands on his face.

_Christmas is in like a week. This is going to drive me nuts._

* * *

Robin swung his blade in an arc, spinning a few times and practicing his footwork as he did so; something he’d been growing lax with in the last few months. The ice that had taken to forming on the training ground made this the perfect opportunity to really practice hard, though.

The training ground was strangely clear of any Shepherds that morning; Chrom had some diplomatic mission that had called him away from Ylisstol the previous morning, and he wouldn’t be back for a few days; Sully was at home, nursing a baby Kjelle who was sick with her first cold; Donnel had roster duty at the western gate now that he was an official Ylissean Knight, much to the great pride of his little island village; Lon’qu trained solo in one of the big anterooms in the Palace most of the time; and the rest of the Shepherds couldn’t be bothered braving the cold just to train.

Leaving Robin alone and breathing heavily in the middle of the training field while drill sergeants shouted orders to the regular army recruits training at the opposite end of the frozen field, feeling like his lungs were forming icicles.

_Maybe I should just call it a day_ , Robin though, swinging his sword around in a few lazy arcs to keep his arm warm. _I still have to go and find something for Lucina and Tharja today anyway…_

Just as Robin was going to sheathe his sword a voice called out from behind him.

“Good morning, Robin,” Lucina greeted happily as she crossed the training field, her version of Falchion, the divine sword of House Ylisse, strapped to her hip. She was wearing her usual armour, but over much thicker woollen clothes, just like Robin had acquired for himself. They were still the deep blue she seemed to favour, which was a relief to the tactician, considering her often questionable fashion sense.

“I was hoping there would be someone here to train with. Care to spar a little?”

Robin chuckled a little.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but sparring with you is like being pummelled by an angry moose.”

Lucina let out a laugh, smiling at Robin’s joke.

The breath caught in the tactician’s throat, and not because it was so cold it was freezing this time.

_She really is beautiful when she smiles_ , he thought, braving himself for what he knew was coming.

“But who am I to turn down such an offer from a member of the royal family?”

Robin sank back into a ready stance, mentally preparing himself for the beating that he had no doubt was coming.

Lucina grinned a little, unclasping the fine blue cloak around her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground as she drew her sword.

Robin resisted the urge to groan as he watched her eyes switch from ‘friendly’ to ‘target’ as she looked at him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she invited, holding Falchion up and ready.

Robin did moan this time as he darted forward, his body already tensing for what he knew would be a painful experience. He wasn’t disappointed when Lucina spun around his charge, smacking the flat of her blade into the small of Robin’s back and sending him tumbling.

“I have already warmed up today, Robin,” she laughed, bouncing on her toes. “You can skip the flailing and falling today.”

“Gee,” Robin groaned, picking himself back up. “Thanks.”

* * *

The tactician groaned through his handkerchief, head leaned right back as he tried to stop the continuous flow of blood originating from his bruised nose.

“Again, Robin, I am so sorry,” Lucina said sheepishly from next to him.

They were sitting on a bench in the heated atrium of the palace, overlooking what was usually a stunning garden. The garden was coated in snow, though; the plants and flowers all hibernating until spring. Or so Miriel insisted they did; most people thought they just died every year. Robin was on the fence with his opinion on the matter, though.

“It’s okay,” Robin said, his voice muffled by the bloody cloth. “I should just be grateful your reflexes are still so good.”

“Head-butting you when we lock swords is not a reflex,” she muttered.

“Did you do it without thinking?”

She nodded.

“Then it was a reflex. Honestly, stop worrying about it so much. You didn’t break it.”

_At least I’m pretty sure you didn’t…_

Lucina shifted next to the tactician, her face one of great guilt.

“I know I should be a little gentler when sparring with others,” she mumbled apologetically. “But I cannot seem to ever tone it down; whenever I fight I have to give my all. It is a wonder anyone still trains with me at all.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Lucina,” Robin said, glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t let that feeling ever go away. It’s kept you alive through horrible, unspeakable times; you’ll need it for the worse part that comes now.”

Lucina looked up questioningly.

“Your Aunt’s Christmas party,” Robin said with a wink.

Lucina giggled a little, brightening.

“She is taking things a little too seriously, isn’t she?”

Robin sighed through the bloody cloth on his face.

Seriously was an understatement. Lissa had enlisted the aid of her friend and fellow Shepherd Maribelle, first female Magistrate and she of the overriding willpower and razor-sharp tongue, to assist her in planning the party. Robin had been expecting to attend a small, intimate gathering someplace like the Shepherds’ barracks, not the black-tie formal dinner and ball in the Royal Banquet Hall that was being talked about.

“I don’t even own a suit,” Robin moaned. “The one I wore to your parents’ wedding was a rental; and I dance like a stump. This is getting blown way out of proportion.”

Lucina burst out laughing after a moment, doubling over as her shoulders shook with the happy sounds.

“I’m glad you find my predicament to be so amusing,” the tactician deadpanned.

“It is not that,” she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “It is just that… it is strange for me, going from fighting to save the world to complaining about a Christmas party. I have not even celebrated Christmas since I was a child.”

Lucina sobered, looking out into the garden through the great plate glass windows.

“In truth, I find Christmas and winter to be a little depressing,” she admitted. “The way everything dies; the trees, the flowers… all buried under a layer of pure white snow. It is a cold time that reminds me of life in my future more than anything else these days.”

Robin looked over to the Princess, his hand falling away from his face as he did so.

_I had no idea she felt this way…_

Lucina glanced over at Robin and burst out laughing again.

“You are dripping,” she said, pointing to his face.

Robin cursed as a drop of blood fell from the end of his nose, plinking to the tiled floor of the atrium.

“Aw forget it,” he growled, returning the cloth to his face. “I’ll just go and find Libra…”

* * *

“So what, pray-tell, did you wind up getting for the dark-beauty Tharja?” Virion asked, watching Robin being suited for his tux.

“It’s a little box that summons Risen,” Robin said offhandedly. “I figure she can do some research; get some…”

Robin adopted his best Tharja impersonation, raising his tone and speaking breathily the way she did as he tented his fingers before his face the way she had a habit of doing.

“Ideas…”

Virion burst out laughing.

“You are truly the master of impersonation, my friend.”

Robin shrugged as he stepped down from the box the tailor had made him stand on as the weasely old man started making notes on a small card.

“A guy’s gotta have a hobby. You should hear the one I do of you.”

The party was in less than four days now; it had been blown so out of proportion that Robin wasn’t even sure he still wanted to go. Foreign representatives were supposedly going to be arriving in the next two days to attend, not to mention the droves of Ylissean nobility.

The tactician took Virion’s seat as the archer stepped up onto the box.

“So have you managed to find a gift for your beautiful mystery girl?” Virion asked, holding out his arms as the tailor began measuring.

“Who said she was beautiful?” Robin asked, just in the spirit of being difficult. “She could be a total dog for all you know.”

Virion chuckled a little as he shook his head.

“But surely some of my impeccable taste has to have worn off on you by now?”

“Virion, don’t take this the wrong way, but your taste is ‘legs-and-a-pulse’.”

The archer burst out laughing, much to the old tailor’s irritation.

“You wound me, good sir,” Virion said mockingly as the tailor began to measure his legs. “Surely you think higher of me than that.”

“I do,” Robin conceded. “But only a little.”

“Okay,” the little old tailor wheezed, the two Shepherds’ attention snapping back to the matter at hand. “I’ll have the suits ready in three days. That’ll give me enough time to fix any problems before your big to-do.”

“Thank you, Horace,” Virion said with a deep bow. “Truly you are a god among tailors.”

The little man waved Virion’s compliment off, shuffling away and muttering to himself.

“He seems nice,” Robin muttered sarcastically, pulling on his coat.

“He is a crotchety old grouch,” Virion said, donning his own coat and scarf. “But he is the best in Ylisstol outside of the royal tailor shop, which is-”

“Busily putting first preference to the royals’ suits and dresses,” Robin repeated, cutting him off and taking the same disapproving tone that Virion had repeated the statement in ten times already.

“Do I truly sound like that?” Virion asked as they stepped out onto the icy street.

“A little,” Robin smirked. “But don’t worry; you get used to it.”

The tactician spent the entirety of the walk back to the palace laughing hysterically at the look Virion had given him; in fact every time the archer opened his mouth to say something, Robin would burst into a new fit of hysterics.

“Oh shut up already,” Virion finally groaned as Robin collapsed in another fit of laughter at the bottom of the palace steps.

“Guards! This hysterical madman has followed me to the palace! Arrest him and hold him for four, maybe five days. Actually, just to be safe, keep him a week if you would be so kind.”

Robin fell to his knees and rolled onto his back, legs flailing as he laughed and held his stomach.

The guards simply rolled their eyes. They were no strangers to the tactician’s eccentricities.

* * *

Robin, still chuckling, hung his coat from the hook next to his door.

_Gods, Virion’s face has just now made everything less funny by comparison forever._

The tactician sobered and let himself fall backwards onto the fluffy bed.

_Four days. Four days and I still don’t know what to get for Lucina._

Robin groaned, running a hand down his face.

_It can’t be something regular, like jewellery or clothes… or books, or consumables… It has to be something deep and heartfelt. It has to_ mean _something, dammit._

Robin thought long and hard about what she had been saying the last few weeks. She didn’t like the snow, or the winter. She thought it made things seem bleak and lifeless, and that it reminded her of the times she had spent cold and alone in her own time at this time of year.

Robin bolted upright, an idea hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

_Robin, you are a genius_ , he told himself, rushing for the door and pausing just long enough to grab his coat.

* * *

“Dad! Dad! Dad!”

Robin shot into a sitting position, a spell already forming in his mind as he bolted out of bed.

“Morgan!?” he asked worriedly, reaching for the bolt locking the door. “What’s wr-”

He was thrown backwards suddenly, the thunder spell he had been priming flying off randomly and leaving a big black scorch mark on the wall as Morgan bowled him over with a giant hug.

“Merry Christmas!” she crowed, squeezing him around the middle.

When he had finally managed to escape her grasp Robin pulled on a shirt, mumbling about the fact it was barely dawn as his daughter sat bouncing excitedly at his table, a small parcel held in her hands.

“This couldn’t wait til later why?” Robin grumbled as he sat on the edge of the bed facing her.

“Tradition!” Morgan exclaimed brightly. “Princess Lissa said I was supposed to burst in and start jumping on the bed to wake you, but your door was locked, so…”

Robin sighed and grinned. He couldn’t help it. She was just too adorable.

“Alright, alright,” Robin said, reaching to the side of his desk for her present.

They exchanged small parcels, and Morgan tore into hers with gusto.

Robin watched her face light up as she gasped, turning the book over in her hands.

“Dad… this is…”

“My first tactical manual, all done. It has notes on every major engagement the Shepherds have ever been in, as well as strategies to improve the tactics I used for similar situations in the future. That one’s officially yours now.”

“But… you worked on this for so long…” Morgan said in awe, looking up.

_Yeah, and I already promised Chrom a copy for the Royal Library, too…_ Robin thought with an internal grimace, smiling at his daughter.

Morgan looked like she was about to burst into tears when she flung herself at Robin again; this time he was ready for her, though, and actually managed to return one of her hugs.

“Okay, you open yours now,” she said with a sniffle, hugging the tactical manual close to her chest as she watched him turn the gift over in his hands.

Robin smiled and shook his head, carefully unwrapping the present.

“Gloves?” he asked with a laugh. “And a scarf?”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically.

“Right! Aunt Tharja and Virion told me how much you hated winter because you were too lazy to buy gloves and a scarf, so I bought you some nice ones!”

Robin held the scarf up, admiring the dark brown and black colouring that matched his coat so perfectly. A thin line of purple at each end showed a little streak of Morgan’s personality, though; his little streak of colour amongst the monotony.

“It’s perfect,” Robin said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. “And comfy, too. Now I never want it to stop snowing! Er… I take that back. I hate the snow. But this will make it slightly more bearable! Thank you, honey.”

Morgan beamed up at her father, as he rose.

“Now let’s go and get some breakfast.”

* * *

“I really wish it would stop snowing,” Robin grumbled behind his new scarf as he followed Morgan through the little blizzard of flakes descending on Ylisstol.

At some point in the recent past while Robin hadn’t been paying attention Tharja and Henry had moved out of the Palace and Shepherds’ barracks respectively, and into a small house near the mage academy. Where their constant spellwork wouldn’t be _too_ out of place.

Robin stomped his feet as they stood on the little doorstep; he hoped it was the right house, he’d just been following Morgan, and Naga knew he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face at the moment.

The door opened and a nervous looking Noire ushered them in. Then again, Robin mused, she did always look nervous at the best of times.

Morgan wrapped Noire in a tight hug as Robin sidestepped the girls, removing his coat and hanging it up before he stepped into the house. He’d forgotten once during a thunderstorm and tracked water through the living room… He still occasionally found his face plastered to his pillow in the morning with drool. Tharja’s hexes and curses had become less life-threatening as time had gone on, but more… eccentric. A hex for drooling in his sleep was still one of the weirder ones.

Robin waved a brief hello to Noire over his daughter’s head as he slipped by them, emerging into Tharja’s almost normal seeming living room.

Apart from the books everywhere and the large black ravens roosting in the rafters the room almost looked like any other person’s house; no doubt Henry’s influence. Huginn cawed from above him, easily the largest of the creatures, looking down on them like a Lord observing his subjects.

Tharja rose from a low couch near the fireplace when Robin walked in, the tactician waving a light greeting to the big bird as Tharja placed a cup of steaming something on the low table.

She had traded her usual thin black robes for thicker woollen ones of the same colour, and she even wore the same warmer travelling clothes she had been forced to acquire for their journey to Regna Ferox so many years ago.

“Robin,” she said, greeting him warmly and embracing the tactician.

“Hey, Tharja,” Robin said, returning the hug. “Merry Christmas.”

Robin drew back, presenting the small package he had for her.

Tharja’s eyes lit up in a very childish manner as they returned to the couch, Robin sitting next to her.

Noire waddled into the room, Morgan still wrapped around her, chatting away.

“Morgan, leave the poor girl alone,” Robin laughed.

“But I haven’t seen her in so long!” Morgan exclaimed, rubbing her cheek against Noire’s. “I missed you so much, Noire!”

Noire simply sighed as she sat down at the other couch, Morgan with her every step of the way. Between an emotionally distant mother and an emotionally over-bearing pseudo-cousin the poor girl had learned to adapt to these situations fairly quickly.

Tharja let out a gasp as the last of the wrapping paper fell away.

“I’ve been looking for one of these for so long,” she said, turning the box over in her hands.

Tharja held a ‘reeking box’, a magical item that had been used during the war to summon phantasmal Risen. Robin had used them a few times, sending a scout or a spy into an enemy base and deploying the little box, but such actions always left a bad taste in his mouth. A few places still had them, not knowing what exactly they did; without the proper incantation it was just a small, harmless wooden box.

“I figured you could use it for something partially evil,” Robin said, leaning back and grinning. “Just, er… don’t open it right now. I didn’t bring my sword with me. Speaking of partially evil; where’s Henry?”

“Father was called away to the Mage Academy,” Noire explained, trying to pry Morgan off of her arm. “The storm caused some damage to the roof of one of the towers, and he’s been looking forward to trying out that spell you came up with in Plegia; the ice one? He’s using it to plug the hole.”

Robin nodded. Henry was eccentric, but easily one of the best mages in Ylisstol. He had resigned his Shepherd commission some time ago to work as a Dark Magic expert at the Royal Academy, but still absorbed every scrap of information magic-related like a sponge.

“I got you this,” Morgan said, finally separating from Noire and backing out of her personal space a little, holding out the small parcel in bright red paper.

Noire accepted the small gift tentatively and unwrapped it. Inside was a little box, and when she opened it…

“BLOOD AND THUNDER!” Noire roared, jumping to her feet and holding the small golden amulet above her head in victory. “At last I am complete once more! All shall tremble before my wrath!”

The younger black-haired girl descended into manic laughter, holding the amulet close to her chest.

Robin rolled his eyes as Morgan giggled. Tharja was still so engrossed in her little box that she barely noticed her daughter’s odd behaviour as she held out a small black parcel to Robin without looking up.

Robin grinned wordlessly as he began to unwrap it, Noire and Morgan moving to go and prepare some tea and snacks. At least that was what Noire was shouting about…

Inside the little box was a small rectangle of thin wood, about the length of Robin’s index finger attached to a leather cord. Carved into the front were various symbols that he recognized as groupings of Dark Magic sigils commonly used for hexing and curses.

“It’s wood taken from the Mila Tree,” Tharja explained, finally looking up from the box in her hand. “I inscribed it with our names and protective spells.”

Robin looked back down at the little talisman with renewed awe; wood from Valm’s Mila Tree was rare and almost insanely magically potent and rare; how Tharja had come into something so rare he honestly was afraid to ask.

Spells inscribed on a magical focus could be devastatingly powerful, and yet she’d chosen to use one that was probably powerful enough to create a spell big enough to destroy the entire Ylisstol Palace in seconds for a protective spell instead.

Robin slipped the cord over his head, tucking the little amulet beneath his shirt, touched at the gesture on her part.

“Thanks,” he said, wrapping one arm around Tharja’s shoulders in a lazy side-hug.

She didn’t even notice; she was back to glaring at the little Risen-summoning box, holding it above her head as she studied the bottom now.

* * *

On the morning of what had quickly become known as the First Annual Royal Ylissean Winter Ball, Lucina rushed into her room, closing the door quickly and leaning back against it.

_If Mother tries to cram me into one more formal dress I am going to scream._

Sumia had been shocked and dismayed to find out that Lucina had been planning to wear her new blue dress uniform to the ball rather than one of the flowing, winter-themed dresses that the other women were all apparently wearing that night; she had made it her mission to find a last minute dress, and much to Lucina’s irritation had conscripted her other daughter and Lucina’s sister Cynthia to help.

Sumia and Cynthia wouldn’t take no for an answer though, so Lucina had slipped away while she was calling to one of the seamstresses to find another certain dress buried somewhere or other in the massive Royal Wardrobe.

She would go back eventually; after she collected herself. They had been at it for hours, and Cynthia was the girly-girl of the family, not Lucina. Lucina just wanted a chance to breathe, to collect her thoughts.

She went rigid as a voice from up the hall called out her name, getting louder before eventually passing her room’s door and fading into the distance.

Sighing, the future-princess ran a hand down her face.

Peacetime was all well and good, but she had spent the majority of her life as a military leader, not a stereotypical Princess. Cynthia was adapting much faster to the role than she was. All Lucina did with her free time was train or lead armed patrols along the highways through the Ylissean countryside. In fact, she had just finished-

She glanced up, a splash of colour sitting in a crystal vase on her nightstand that hadn’t been there when she had woken catching her eye.

Flowers.

Someone had put a vase of fresh, brightly coloured flowers in her room.

More amazingly, though, was that someone had managed to find fresh flowers in the dead of winter.

She crossed the room in a few quick strides, eyes wide with wonder as she reached for the card covered in familiar handwriting.

_Thought you’d like to know that even in the dead of winter life finds a way; just like you did. Merry Christmas! Robin,_ she read.

Lucina blinked a few times before her face broke out into a huge smile.

_How in the world did he find these?_ She wondered, leaning over them to breathe their scent in. _They’re beautiful!_

The door burst open behind her, Cynthia bustling in with Sumia hot on her trail.

“There you are!” her brunette sister cried. “You cannot escape our wrath!”

Lucina turned, still smiling.

“I think I have found the motivation to continue with this exercise,” she said, tucking the card into her sleeve. “Let us be finished with this business. I am… actually looking forward to this evening now.”

* * *

“The Vaike hates these monkey-suits,” Vaike grumbled sullenly, tugging at his collar as he stood with Robin, Virion, Lon’qu and Owain.

“At least you don’t have to sit at the head-table,” Lon’qu mumbled, eying the crowd and shuddering a little as his eyes fell of a gaggle of Ylissean noblewomen, all dressed up in fancy winter-themed gowns, watching the men and giggling.

“I am married and I love my wife, I am married and I love my wife,” Virion muttered, doing his best not to look at the noblewomen waving at their group suggestively.

“You are married and your wife has a very, very big wyvern,” Robin corrected the archer as the other three men burst out laughing.

Owain looked over at his father and Lon’qu heaved a sigh.

“Yes, go and tell them the tale of Owain, Scion of Legend,” the Feroxi swordsman said with resignation in his voice.

Owain perked up instantly, grinning ear to ear as he sauntered over to the women.

“Hark, noble ladies! Have you ever heard tell the tale of Owain, Scion of Legend and Slayer of Grima, saviour of this world and all who dwell within it!?” the blonde cried loudly as he approached, the noblewomen all swooning at the dashing young man’s self-introduction.

“See,” Robin said to Virion, elbowing the man in the ribs. “He doesn’t need a wingman.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Vaike said as he spotted a group of the female Shepherds all entering at once, Miriel among their number. “But Teach’s gotta show you all how a real man sweeps his lady off her feet.”

Virion spotted Cherche among the group and grinned carnivorously at Vaike’s back.

“There is no way I am letting that oaf outdo me,” he said, beelining for his pink-haired wife.

Robin sighed happily, watching the women enter with Lon’qu as he leaned against the wall next to the other man.

The women all looked radiant as they walked from the entrance and up the middle of the floor. He heard Gaius wolf-whistle at one point, earning a dirty look from Panne, one of the only women present not in some form of flowing gown.

The group separated, the women done with their grand entrance and separating to find their significant others or into small groups of friends. The empty dance floor began filling up as the band sitting in one corner began to play. It amused Robin watching Vaike try to teach Miriel how to do whatever local dance was going on, the spectacled woman watching and treating the situation like another experiment. Virion grinned at the blonde man as he flashed by, gracefully stepping with Cherche, much to Vaike’s annoyance and causing the axeman to redouble his efforts.

Morgan skipped happily over to Lon’qu and Robin, and the tactician had to do a double-take when he realized it was _his_ daughter walking over to them.

_Well, she definitely has to take after her mother,_ Robin thought, _because I do not look that good under any circumstances._

“Hi Dad!” she said happily. “Good evening, Sir Lon’qu!”

Lon’qu nodded tersely, a little of his old gynophobia creeping back to the fore.

“You look beautiful, Morgan,” Robin said proudly, stepping forward and giving her a light hug.

“I think I saw Yarne duck under the third table from the back, right hand side,” he whispered into her ear as they hugged.

She winked, off to find her Taguel quarry. Sometimes Robin wondered if they were actually friends, or if Yarne just put up with being treated like a stuffed animal because of his lack of confidence. Then he wondered if there was something more going on between the two…

Robin glanced up at the spectacle of Morgan dragging a fearful-looking Taguel out from under one of the many tables, his eyes narrowing to slits as he caught the man’s gaze.

Yarne actually paled further, going quiet as Morgan dragged him up.

“Come on!” she said cheerily, dragging him by the hand to the dance floor. “We’re dancing!”

Robin chuckled at the spectacle, his face softening as Yarne’s gaze was finally torn away.

“So why are you here and not doing the whole ‘royal entrance’ thing with the others?” Robin asked Lon’qu conversationally.

The man shrugged.

“I’m technically not a Royal,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m not even a noble. It didn’t feel right.”

_You get worked up about the weirdest things…_ Robin thought as they lapsed back into silence.

Another large group of Ylissean nobles strutted into the ballroom, and Robin made a face of distaste. Apart from the actual Royal family he really wanted nothing to do with the other nobles of the land; especially considering the way every single one of them tried to continually fix him up with one of their daughters.

One Duke of some backwater territory to the south spotted Robin and began to ‘discretely’ drift over, no doubt with the intention of engaging Robin like it was the grandest coincidence in the world that they would meet in one place.

He really wasn’t in the mood to have marriage proposed to him by sweaty, portly balding men all evening. Again.

“I’m out,” Robin muttered to Lon’qu, angling for the doors to the kitchen. “Tell your wife I was here, though; she’ll probably try to kick me out of the palace if you don’t.”

Lon’qu nodded, understanding instantly and moving to intercept the Duke and give his friend a few more moments to make his escape.

_I guess we’re even for the wine now_ , Robin thought with a grin as he passed through the wide swinging doors and into the bustle of the kitchen, loosening his collar and tie as he did so.

He brushed past the waiters and servers, busily preparing the evening’s dinner.

“Can you bring a plate of that up to my room?” Robin asked one of the waiters as he passed.

The man nodded absently; just about every palace servant knew who Robin was and why he lived so close to the Royal Apartments, so they knew exactly where to bring the platter. The fact that the eccentric tactician was already leaving the banquet hall was being completely ignored by the busy servants.

Robin slipped into the back hallways, moving at a brisk pace through the servant corridors and slipping around to the main staircase leading to the upper levels.

_I wonder if Lucina liked the flowers,_ Robin thought as he began to stride up the stairs, hoping that no one caught him escaping from the party.

They’d been hard enough to find; he’d actually had to ride to Southtown in a blizzard the other day, where Miriel had once told him about an experimental ‘hot-house’ that made use of special glass to maintain a warmer temperature inside was supposedly located. Apparently growing flowers in the middle of winter could be very lucrative, though, and Robin had forked out an entire gold coin for the bunch that he’d chosen.

Robin stopped dead when a familiar voice called out to him just as he reached the top of the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Lucina asked curiously, cocking her head to the side a little.

The tactician glanced over his shoulder sheepishly, like a child being caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be.

His attempts to come up with an excuse died in his throat as he caught sight of the Princess properly, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping for a moment as he turned before he composed himself.

Usually she didn’t have any trouble captivating Robin with her natural beauty; her regular blue clothes and armour had just become part of the person he knew and cared about. The woman standing before him in a floor-length white gown, sequins like ice frozen to the fabric glittering in the castle’s interior torchlight left Robin truly speechless.

“Wow,” he finally managed.

“Not too bad for something Mother and Cynthia forced on me at the last second, is it?” Lucina asked, meeting Robin’s gaze and smiling bashfully.

The tactician found himself descending the stairs again, slowly putting one foot carefully on each step in case he fell, his eyes never leaving Lucina.

“Not bad at all,” he agreed.

Once he finally reached the main level of the castle he realized that a small red flower had been worked into the top of the braids in her hair at the back of her head, sitting casually as the focal point for her entire look.

“I take it you got my present, then?” Robin asked, doing his best to seem nonchalant as he reached up and gently brushed the petals in her hair.

“I love it,” Lucina said, rising up on her toes and giving Robin a quick kiss on his cheek.

The tactician’s face instantly broke into a goofy grin as Lucina stepped back, offering him her arm.

“Tactician Robin, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to my Aunt’s blown-out-of-proportion formal winter ball?”

Robin snorted with laughter at her over-formality and the use of his own phrasing from earlier that week. The truth was that obviously neither of them wanted to be there, but it would disappoint their families if they were absent.

“Of course, my Princess,” he said with a low, overly-formal bow before taking Lucina’s arm in his and walking with her back to the ballroom he had just managed to escape from.

“It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

 

Robin groaned, panting as he fell into a chair at one of the tables in the back, drenched in sweat. Despite the fact that he very clearly couldn’t dance to save his life, he had just spent the better part of the evening on the floor with Lucina, spinning and twirling and trying not to step on anyone. He had alternated partners once to do an energetic… something of a dance with Morgan, but apart from that he and Lucina had been inseparable.

She fell into the seat next to him, both of their faces flushed from the exertions of dancing for so long together.

“That was better than training,” Robin gasped eventually. “You know why? Because I’m not covered in bruises this time.”

“Yes, it is just the feet of those unfortunate enough to come anywhere near you tonight that are bruised,” Lucina laughed.

Robin chuckled a little as he leaned back.

Much to his surprise everyone was having a great time; the Shepherds were all dancing and relaxing in one place for the first time in a long time, while all of their children from the future did the same or ran amok, in the case of Morgan and Yarne. Apparently Lissa’s big to-do had been a huge success.

He smiled as he watched the couples still on the floor, swaying to a slower song, bodies pressed together as they leaned against one another.

“Come on,” Robin said without thinking, taking Lucina’s hand and beginning to lead her back to the floor. “I’m sure you’ve got one more in you.”

Lucina wordlessly followed, smiling again as Robin stopped on the edge of the floor, pulling the Princess into the same sort of embrace the other dancers were in. Her hands went up onto his shoulders as his rested on her waist, and they began to shuffle slowly out onto the floor.

Admittedly, Robin was leading them in a watered down ‘I-really-can’t-dance’ version of the dance, but Lucina didn’t seem to mind as she sighed and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

Robin’s eyes flicked up above her head, smiling sheepishly as Virion gave him a big smile and thumbs up over Cherche’s head. Morgan noticed her father and Lucina dancing from her position at a table with Tharja, Henry and Noire, waving and grinning sheepishly as she made kissy faces at them. Robin’s eyebrow shot up when the dancing duo ran across Chrom and Sumia’s path, his anxiety jumping a little until he noticed the Exalt grin and wink conspiratorially at him, Sumia smiling wistfully.

“Thank you for everything today, Robin,” Lucina said into his shoulder as they swayed. “The flowers… the dancing… I have not had this much fun in years.”

Robin’s big goofy smile returned to his face a moment before he realized that he hadn’t seen Lissa anywhere on the floor. He would have thought for sure that she would have dragged Lon’qu onto the dance floor and chained him to it…

Robin and Lucina both looked up as someone cleared their throat behind them.

Lissa was standing there, an impish grin on her face as she tried valiantly to hold a small bundle of green leaves above the heads of the two taller people. Lon’qu appeared at her side, taking the leaves and holding them up as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, his own face grinning.

_I think that’s… mistletoe…_ Robin realized with a jolt as he glanced down at the Princess pressed to his chest.

Lucina looked up at him, an expectant and shy grin on her face.

_What the hell,_ Robin thought with a shrug, leaning down.

Lucina surprised him by wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping up into the kiss.

The whole crowd cheered as they separated, faces flushed and smiling.

“Merry Christmas, Robin,” Lucina whispered happily in his ear as they began to dance again.

**_Finished 2014_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2019: This was another experimental writer’s block breaker I did for… reasons. It’s five years old, I don’t remember anymore. It was also the beginning of my obsession with fluff. ALL OF THE FLUFF!


	3. Awakening - The Pride of Ylisse

A quiet, idyllic early morning greeted anyone who would have been idle enough to look out of their windows. The sun crested the plain of a training ground, a track and field oval currently occupied by a small handful of teenagers that had been there since well before dawn running laps. The sound of their running chants echoed over the quiet buildings not far away; dormitories housing even more students. Some began to stir, now that the sun’s first rays had crested the horizon; either waking from slumber or slowly slinking off to bed after a night of ‘fun’. It was a holiday, after all. There were to be no classes.

But Southtown’s branch of the Ylissean Royal Military Academy never slept, even on holidays. Numerous clubs and groups still met and trained and studied, even on their holidays. They were, after all, the pride of the Ylissean people.

However, the idyllic sunrise and early hour didn’t stop the cacophony of an alarm clock from splitting the serene atmosphere in one particular room, the tiny thing’s shrill electronic screech like nails on a chalkboard to the exhausted mind of the room’s sole occupant.

From beneath a thick duvet a single groping hand reached out, slim and feminine, flopping about while trying to reach for the clock. The hand’s owner reached too far, and with a surprised yelp the young woman fell from her bed onto the cold floor. Or, as close to the floor as she could get given the piles of clothes, both clean and dirty, and other detritus that had begun to crop up in her room. Piles of books and dirty plates teetered dangerously in various spots between the clothes, as well as a few plastic video game and movie cases. A small flatscreen TV doubled as her computer monitor, perched proudly atop the only clean spot in the room; her desk. Somewhere in the piles there was a handheld console, too, but she hadn’t seen it in a few days… A poster of one of Chon’sin’s most famous exports, the songstress and idol Kiria Kurono hung on one of her walls, the smoldering young woman’s gaze sweeping over the entire mess as she held a microphone stand like a weapon before her. The poster was one of many adorning the walls, the haphazard fashion that the sheets of paper were hung in adding to the air of chaos in the small space. Out of all of them, though, Kiria Kurono’s was hung perfectly straight. At some point even her prized, limited launch-day-only poster of Yashiro Tsurugi had fallen and become askew.

Morgan sat up, yawning wide and blinking her bleary eyes clear as she remembered she had purposely set the clock up on the other side of the room so that she couldn’t oversleep again. A mop of shoulder-length brown hair swayed back and forth as she rose, less a standing motion and more a sort of falling-upwards kind of movement, before plodding over to the clock and hitting the off button with great relish. Clad only in the oversized white shirt her father had sent her, displaying the squad symbol of the elite Shepherds on its breast, that she wore in lieu of proper pajamas, Morgan gave a slight shiver as she contemplated escaping the cold back into her nice warm bed.

The small electronic numbers on the clock read ’06:17’. She was up early. There was a reason for this…

Giving another great yawn, Morgan decided that she wouldn’t have tortured herself like this for no reason. There had to be a point to her getting up so early on a holiday. With that in mind, she grabbed the closest pair of jeans from one of the piles on the ground, gave them a cursory sniff, and pulled them on with a shrug. She spotted her favorite shirt, the one with short sleeves and emblazoned with her current favorite band’s logo on the front and back, atop a pile she was moderately certain was clean, and pulled off her Shepherds-shirt. As the teenager bent to retrieve the tight black shirt she hesitated for a moment, looking down at her modest bust before sighing and pulling the new shirt on. Not like anyone would even notice if she didn’t wear a bra, given her almost laughable cup-size…

Morgan shook her head, slapping both palms to her cheeks as she tried to focus. Now was not the time for such thoughts! Besides, Severa’s boobs were way smaller than hers!

With that guilty little thought about her friend at the back of her mind, a grinning Morgan grabbed the old service jacket her father had sent her complete with bullet holes still in the side, slung it over her shoulder and exited her room.

* * *

Morgan shuffled mindlessly down the hallway her squad’s rooms were off of and into the squad’s refractory, doing her best to wake herself up as she did so. A few of the others were already awake, Severa and Kjelle already chatting over coffee in the sitting area while Owain, who was no doubt still awake from last night if his rumpled uniform was any indication, was making himself a cup as Morgan walked in. He wore the same uniform they all did, minus the usual blue tie; a formal white button-down shirt and deep blue pants, to match the tie. Simple, but classy. Once they became seniors next year they would finally get to wear the shirts with the gold trim like Lucina and her squad, something Morgan secretly looked forward to.

Noire timidly glanced up from where she was watching the morning news on the communal TV as Morgan stepped into the room, offering her a cheery wave before going back to the report about mounting tensions between Ylisse and Plegia, resting her chin on her knees. It was no secret that she and her mother, who was still one of the Shepherds like all their parents were, had defected from Plegia. Morgan herself was half-Plegian, her famous father having defected before Tharja had. Honestly, though, Morgan identified more with her mother’s Chon’sin heritage. Still, though, it wasn’t easy to hear about the rising tensions between the nations for anyone. Noire was wearing her usual plain clothes, a forest green singlet and baggy dark brown cargo pants at least two sizes too big for her, held in place on her scrawny hips with a plain leather belt. What she kept in those deep pockets no one knew…

The news cut to an ad break as Morgan crossed the room, showing a commercial for a new ongoing series she and a couple of the others, mostly Owain, Cynthia and surprisingly Severa, had been watching. Unfortunately Cynthia was in Ylisstol visiting with her maternal Grandparents, so she’d have to settle for watching it alone then video-calling the others to talk about how cool it was. A blonde girl flipped across the TV screen, impaling a zombie-vampire thing and Morgan’s tired brain was just awake enough to process how cool the moves were. “Unf. Can’t wait for the next episode.”

Noire shuddered, having been scared off after the first episode. “How you guys can watch stuff like _Horror Hunter Angel_ I’ll never know…”

“Where’s Inigo, anyway?” Morgan asked sleepily as she beelined for the coffee, grinning a little to herself.

Kjelle scoffed as Severa’s perpetual frown became more severe. Kjelle had obviously just come from a workout, if the tight, damp singlet and running shorts were any indication. Her short brown hair was still slick with sweat, despite the towel draped around her shoulders, and her toned, muscular arms flexed as she leaned one elbow onto the table, turning to address Morgan.

“Saw him slinking in just as I was going out for my run at five,” she said.

“Really, if he would put half as much effort into his studies as he did man-whoring it up he’d be better than the rest of us in a week,” Severa added sourly, pulling out her phone, the latest model of course, and checking it for… whatever it was she checked it for when she pulled it out.

The acerbic girl who was known around the campus as having an acid tongue flicked one of her deep red twintails over one perfect shoulder and the simple white sweater she was wearing, sliding her phone back into her pocket. A black skirt and matching stockings beneath her simple black leather boots completed the fashionable girl’s look as she rested her chin on one palm, huffing a sigh.

Morgan made a non-committal sound as she lined up next to Owain, waiting with the currently zombified blonde boy for the next pot of coffee. It was no secret that their squadmate liked to sneak into Southtown to spend time with his numerous girlfriends, sometimes disappearing for days at a time as he indulged in his carnal desires with them. For all that, though, he was solid as a rock during the live-fire exercises, not to mention a great shot. Inigo was fearless, as evidenced by the way he constantly flouted the rules and, even more brazenly, hit on the girls in his squad. Kjelle had come close to throttling him twice now, and Severa had not-so-subtly shot him a few times during paintball exercises.

“Still alive?” she asked Owain discretely.

Owain nodded, yawning as the coffee maker finally chimed ‘ready’. With deft, practiced hands Owain pulled the jug free of the apparatus and poured two cups for himself and Morgan before replacing it, all while still yawning. Without a second thought Owain began to drink his coffee black, the bitter liquid clearly doing much to wake him up as the light returned to his green eyes.

“Gawds, do you ever sleep!?” Severa snapped at Owain.

“Not when there are so many that need the protection of I, Owain Dark!” he declared, brandishing his coffee cup like a sword.

“You were up all night playing those stupid games again, weren’t you?” Severa deadpanned.

“Not just any stupid game,” Owain said with a chuckle. “I was playing the MMO Sacred Stones, the greatest online RPG experience since World of-”

“And nobody cares,” Severa huffed, turning away from him. “We’ve got one idiot that stays up all night playing games and another idiot that goes out all night partying. No middle ground, but they both end up sleeping all day.”

Morgan remained silent, tacitly deciding not to mention the fact she’d been up half the night raiding with Owain in SS…

“Well sucks to be Inigo, then,” Kjelle shrugged. “He misses out on meeting our transfer students-”

Morgan made a high-pitched squealing sound, causing the other four members of her squad to jump as she hopped up and down on the spot, heedless of how close she came to spilling her precious, nourishing, life-giving coffee.

“I knew there was a reason I was getting up so early on a holiday!” she declared.

“So you had to burst our ear-drums!?” Severa snapped.

“Well, now I’m awake…” Owain mumbled.

Kjelle just rubbed her ears, frowning and shaking her head. Noire looked up, her eyes and the top of her head the only thing visible above the back of the chair she was sitting on.

“Sorry,” Morgan mumbled sheepishly, hiding her blush in her coffee cup.

Clearing her throat, Morgan tried again in a much more subdued tone. “So when are they arriving?”

* * *

A little over an hour later and the squad, minus an obviously hung-over Inigo, had reassembled in the common room and refractory to meet the new students. Owain joined them, though, still bleary eyed but freshly showered now and wearing his favorite yellow and black patterned hoodie over a pair of baggy jeans.

The students were, excitingly, from both Hoshido and Nohr. Both were countries on the opposite side of the world, and until very recently had been locked in a bitter war over territory for more than twenty years. It had taken the efforts of a man named Corrin, from the royal bloodline of a nation that no longer existed named Valla, the stop the incessant fighting and bring peace to the beleaguered continent. At least, that’s what all the textbooks said. Morgan was looking forward to getting some first-hand insight into the situation over there.

Apparently the squad of Senior Third Year students would be getting a couple of transfer students as well; no doubt Lucina and her squad were all lined up and as excited as Morgan’s squad were.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and crowded the door as the sound of an engine cut off outside the small building, raptly watching for the first sign of their homeroom teacher. The door swung open, and a sprightly woman of early middle age waltzed in, her bright red hair swishing with her over-exaggerated movements. On the lapel of her smart pant-suit was a pin of the same symbol as was on Morgan’s pajamas; the Symbol of the Shepherds.

“Oh man it is a long drive from the airport!” Anna complained. “Whoever brings me coffee will have their grades bumped up on the next midterms!”

Owain and Noire both visibly perked up, their eyes meeting before they both darted towards the counter with the appliances. Due to his fatigue, Owain arrived a fraction of a second behind the skinny raven-haired girl, frowning as she grinned sheepishly and hugged the coffee pot to her chest. Anna chuckled, sinking to a hip as she stood just inside the doorway and grinned her trademark smile. Of course, she was always smiling, even when she was chewing someone out, but this one seemed genuine.

Four more people followed Anna into the common room, each carrying a large duffel or suitcase.

“First Junior Squad, meet your new squadmates,” Anna announced in a sing-song voice. “I’d like to introduce to you all Ophelia, Soleil and Sophie from Nohr, and Midori from Hoshido. Make nice, be friends and ta-ta!”

With that the red-head was gone, leaving a perplexed gaggle of students staring at the space she had vacated before looking back and forth between each other. Except for Noire, who was left holding a steaming coffee cup and looking crestfallen next to a smug Owain. Morgan took the initiative, instantly filling the space that their teacher had vacated.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Morgan, the squad leader! Nice to meet you!”

A round of introductions from the rest of squad followed, Ophelia giving Owain a strange look at the blonde boy’s usual theatrical nature. But the four transfers stepped forward all the same when Morgan stepped aside, inviting them to join them in the refractory.

“Coffee’s not so bad once you get used to it,” she laughed. “It’s military grade, though, so it’s either weak and way too hot, or cold and almost solid. Never any middle ground. Make sure you get in quick if Owain’s making it, though. He seems to have the knack down. Speaking of, Owain, can you take their bags to their rooms?”

“Of course, Commander!” Owain half-shouted, practically throwing the four large bags up into his arms. As he stumbled, clearly still exhausted from his night of gaming, Kjelle sighed and stepped forward. She yanked two of the bags from his arms and stalked away, muttering to herself about being ‘the only one taking this seriously’. Owain just gave the four new girls a sheepish grin, following the athletic girl down the hallway to their dorm rooms. As all this happened Morgan had brewed four steaming cups of coffee, perfect for taking the edge off the late spring morning chill, and held them out to the new girls. Inigo was going to have a field day when he found out that all four of the transfers were women. It would be like Nagamas for him.

“Wow, this place is great!” Soleil commented, leaning back against the counter as she sipped from her cup.

The Nohrian girl had long pink hair hanging down the back of the quilted jacket she was wearing, its cut decidedly military compared to the clothes of the Ylisseans. Her tight black shirt beneath the open jacket showed off her figure, something Morgan couldn’t help but notice with a twinge of jealousy. As if she didn’t have enough trouble getting the guys’ attention…

“I know, right?” Sophie added. “We didn’t even get a communal TV for all the cadets to share in Nohr. But you guys have one in your dorm? That’s awesome!”

Sophie’s black leather jacket was lighter than Soleil’s, cut higher and clearly designed for riding. So she would be acting as their new outrider on one of the ‘Cavalier’ war bikes, no doubt. Her short, pale blue hair was styled in a sort of bob, no doubt to make it easier to manage when she was riding.

“You can have one in your room, too,” Morgan grinned. “Long as you buy it.”

Ophelia perked up from where she was watching the news over Noire’s chair, the blonde girl grinning expectantly. She flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder, her revealing low-cut top bouncing with the motions. Morgan noticed that she was also wearing what seemed to be black hot-pants, again leaving very little to the imagination, but Ophelia didn’t seem to notice the Ylissean chill. Or she ignored it.

“Really?” she asked.

Soleil smirked, moving to throw an arm over the blonde’s shoulder. “At last, you can finally play those games instead of reading about them!”

“Hey, I read other stuff, too!”

“Like what?”

“Like… fantasy and sci-fi novels… and… comics…”

“Ooh, you’re so cute when you talk nerd…”

Sophie cleared her throat and Ophelia blushed, shoving Soleil off of her shoulder and inching away as the other girl laughed, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly and shooting Ophelia an apologetic look.

From behind Morgan Midori sighed, cradling her cup of coffee without drinking it. The Hoshidan girl had dark green hair tied up into two little pigtails at the side of her head, far shorter than Severa’s. She also wore a strange wrap-around tunic sort of thing instead of a top, similar to the kimonos that Morgan had seen back home in Chon’sin.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” she asked. “I can go get Owain to make you another one…”

“N-no!” the Hoshidan girl said quickly, taking a sip. “It’s fine! I just… in Hoshido we drink tea, and I was just realizing… how far away from home we are…”

The five girls grew somber for a moment, Noire turning to glance up over the back of her chair again at the silence. In the background an advertisement for another popular Chon’sin idol played on the TV while the actress drank sparkling mineral water or some other such crap, one of Tsubasa Oribe’s cheery songs totally contrasting the mood. With a sigh Severa stepped forward, crossing her arms and sinking to a hip.

“You know what this calls for? Shopping. C’mon, we’ll show you around town. Owain! Get your butt out here! I’m gonna need you to carry stuff!”

There was a tired whimper from the hallway, Owain’s voice sounding totally exhausted. “But I haven’t even slept yet! Why do you hate me!? At least wake Inigo up, too, so I’m not suffering alone!”

* * *

In Southtown’s busy central market square the four new transfer students let out appreciative oohs and ahhs as they looked around, the bus that had delivered them to the city pulling back into traffic behind them. The rest of Morgan’s squad, including a very put-upon Owain and a barely conscious Inigo, were arrayed behind the transfers, glancing at their phones or the crowds. Being that it was a holiday there was a lot of foot traffic, the street behind them packed with cars and civilian models of the ‘Cavalier’ and heavier ‘Paladin’ bikes that the Ylissean army used.

“I’m gonna go look at the game store,” Owain yawned.

“Still my aching blood and take me with you!” Ophelia declared.

Owain blinked a few times, his tired mind clearly trying to comprehend what he’d just seen, before breaking into a massive grin. “Of course, my new companion! However please, beware my sword-hand! I cannot always control it at times! Wanna go to the bookstore afterwards?”

“Do I!? We shall ascend victorious in this battle! It is written in the stars! Let us be off!”

“W-wait for me!” Noire called, hurrying to catch up with them. “I want to go to the b-bookstore, too! Wait!”

The two of them wandered into the crowd, speaking as if they were reciting lines from a play or a bad anime or something similar as the raven-haired sniper followed. Morgan watched them go, grinning and wishing she could join them, but she had three more transfers to worry about.

“Oh sweet merciful Dusk Dragon now there’s two of them…” Sophie muttered, watching the blonde pair disappear into the crowd with one brow quirked.

Severa stepped forward, dragging Inigo by the arm. “Well, since my bag carrier’s just wandered off you’ve got the job.”

“Goodie,” Inigo muttered darkly.

The steel-haired playboy shook Severa off his arm, straightening the simple pale-pink button-down shirt he was wearing. The top few buttons were undone, showing off his toned chest and the gold chains he wore. Morgan always thought he looked a little tacky, but judging from how often he snuck either into the other girls’ dorms or into town the look worked for him.

“Why am I even here?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Squad bonding,” Morgan supplied helpfully. “We got four new members. That means we need to get to know each other.”

Inigo glanced up, starting as he noticed Soleil behind the squad leader as if for the first time. His frown instantly turned into an easy smile, and before Morgan could even try to tell him not to he’d slipped around her and sidled up to the pink-haired girl.

“You know, I think I agree with Morgan,” Inigo practically purred. “I think we should take the… bonding… very seriously. And I’d love to get to know you better…”

Soleil gave a little squeak, totally at odds with the flirtatious nature Morgan had seen from her so far, and ducked behind Sophie. Inigo just laughed, turning his grin on the taller girl.

“Well, I won’t say no if you want to bring your friend. Hi there. Inigo. Vanguard. How you doin?”

Kjelle stomped forward, slapping Inigo in the side of the head. “Down boy. You struck out.” There was no strength to the blow, though, and Inigo just shrugged.

“Ah, another time, then. Alright, Severa, I’m all yours. Be gentle.”

The redhead rolled her eyes and shook her head, glaring at him. Midori stepped forward, though, timidly glancing at Inigo before looking to Severa. “Uh, could you show me where I can get some local clothes? I feel like I stick out a little…”

Severa’s face broke out into a radiant smile at the thought of having someone to shop with, rather than just wait on her, and nodded. “Of course I do, duh! Come on, there’s this great little boutique just around the corner that have the cutest boots! Then we can do something about your wardrobe. I saw a place up the street with some nice tops, so we can head there afterwards… Inigo, get your butt in gear, let’s go!”

“Please just kill me,” Inigo sighed, shooting an imploring look at Morgan before following the two girls into the press of the crowd.

“I guess it’s just us, then,” Morgan said with a shrug and a smug grin. No way was he getting out of his comeuppance for sneaking out that easily.

Kjelle, Soleil and Sophie nodded, Soleil emerging from behind her friend and shooting a weak glare at Inigo’s retreating figure. Morgan chose not to question her behavior, though; if there was one thing she’d learned in the last three years, it was every member of her squad had their own particular brand of crazy.

“Anything you guys want to do?” she asked.

“We kinda skipped breakfast,” Sophie said. “Well, I mean, it was plane food, so…”

“Yeesh, yeah, say no more,” Morgan shuddered. Chon’sin was a long way away, so she was fairly familiar with plane food. “There’s a small café next to the CD store I wanted to check out. Sound good?”

“Aye-aye, miss squad leader, ma’am,” Soleil said with a lazy salute.

* * *

Morgan sipped from the small ceramic mug in her hands, relishing the creamy smoothness of the high quality coffee as it washed over her tongue. It was a common joke in the military to never come between a soldier and their coffee; most cadets in the Southtown campus were a living testament to this saying. Four cafés on campus, and they all sold out of coffee before the end of the day. The kiosk stores and supermarkets in and around the campus received daily deliveries of the precious brown liquid. Most cafés in town knew almost all of the students by sight, if not by name.

Three contented sighs echoed Morgan’s own as the others sipped their own drinks. A black, unsweetened cup for Kjelle, a latté with a shot of hazelnut syrup for Sophie, and a café-au-lait for Soleil, a surprisingly feminine choice. Morgan’s own cup had a simple flat white, something that she had unceremoniously dumped half the table’s sugar stock into once it had arrived. Morgan’s father had always said that you could tell a lot about a person from the coffee they drank.

The four girls were sitting at a table in the back, close to the counter that had the huge, boxy coffee maker on it. The café itself was nothing special; a bunch of tables crammed into the interior space and even more of them spread out in front of the storefront, large plate glass windows offering a great view of the market square and beyond, and letting plenty of natural light into the space. The décor was nothing special; ‘artfully understated’ she would call it. A few abstract paintings adorned the walls, but aside from that the rest was simple functionality, something Morgan could appreciate.

“So how are you finding Southtown?” she asked after a moment spent enjoying their drinks.

“It’s a little warmer than Nohr,” Sophie said. “Apparently it gets hotter, too? Miss Anna said something to that effect in the car.”

“Yeah, winter only just ended,” Morgan supplied. “It’ll shoot up to the high eighties in summer.”

Soleil let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “That means bikinis, right? We’re close to the beach, so that means bikinis, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so scared of Inigo, you two would get along so well,” Kjelle deadpanned over her cup.

Soleil just cleared her throat awkwardly, blushing and trying to hide in her cup.

“Soleil is afraid of men,” Sophie supplied helpfully. “Especially flirty men.”

“Sophie!” the pink haired girl hissed, her blush growing.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Morgan shrugged, doing her best not to grin and failing miserably. “Most of the squad are girls. And I’ll make sure I have a word to Inigo about behaving himself. And if he doesn’t, Kjelle you can have a word with him.”

The bigger girl smirked, shaking her head a little. “You know, I’d swear he’s starting to like it when I kick his ass…”

The girls laughed, the sound being lost in the din of the café. It was busy at this time of day, so soon after lunch. People liked to eat and then relax with a decent cup of coffee, Morgan guessed. She saw a few familiar faces from the school, too; a lot were students not enrolled in the military program, but she saw a few other cadets from her year and the year below them in the crowd. For some strange reason she never saw the seniors out and about in town. Morgan liked to guess that it was because the coffee they were supplied was just that much better than theirs…

A few people in the café began moving to the windows, the tone of conversation in the small building changing subtly and a low undertone of worry beginning to seep into the carefree atmosphere.

“What’s going on outside?” Kjelle asked, ever the most observant of the squad.

“Meh, probably another anti-Plegia rally or some other such crap,” Morgan mumbled disinterestedly.

“The Ylisseans really don’t like the Plegians, huh?” Sophie asked.

Morgan shrugged. “It goes both ways. I don’t really get it. It’s like hatred’s bred into them.”

Kjelle snorted, quirking one brow at Morgan’s statement but remaining otherwise silent on the matter as she craned her neck, trying to see through the crowd at the windows.

“Sounds familiar,” Sophie muttered darkly, sipping from her cup again.

Soleil sighed theatrically, throwing an arm over both Morgan and Sophie’s shoulders and drawing them into an awkward group hug with a big grin on her face.

“C’mon, we’re supposed to be having fun here!” she laughed. “Leave all the tense political crap for when we graduate!”

“Gah, Soleil my coffee! You’re gonna make me spill it!” Sophie shouted indignantly.

“Help, help, I need an adult!” Morgan laughed.

The girls grew silent when a shadow fell over their table, Morgan glancing up to see another pair of familiar faces.

“Will! Isabella! What’s up?”

A tall, plain and scruffy looking boy and a thin waif-like girl with long pale blue hair, wearing a simple flowing white top and bright purple leggings, looked down at them. They both wore old surplus military jackets over their clothes, both displaying Rubinelle flags on the arms. Will grinned, crossing his arms.

“No, no, we can wait,” he chuckled.

“Will wanted to say hello,” Isabella said, her voice soft and almost lost in the din of the café.

The older boy rolled his eyes before grinning again. Will was from the Third Junior Squad, in the same class as Morgan and her squad. Isabella was a year younger, though, still a Freshman that hadn’t been assigned a squad yet. They both came from Rubinelle, one of the Ylissean states in the north closer to Regna Ferox, and were practically inseparable. They both claimed they were just friends, but Morgan knew it was only a matter of time.

“You two out on a date?” Morgan asked, drawing out the word ‘date’.

Will frowned, blushing and looking away. Isabella quirked her head to the side before looking up at Will for confirmation, who simply blushed heavier. Morgan, Soleil and Sophie burst out laughing, Will letting out another sigh.

“I just wanted to come over and introduce ourselves to the new girls,” he said, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Right. Southtown’s power-couple. Gotcha,” Soleil said.

Will groaned again, hiding his face with his hands, but Isabella just furrowed her brow. “I was hoping to get to you before Morgan ruined you, but clearly I’m too late.”

“That’s right, we’re a lost cause,” Soleil laughed, her gaze turning to Isabella. “How about you come and get lost with us, cutie?”

“Down girl,” Sophie sighed.

“The last thing we needed was another Inigo,” Morgan groaned.

“But she’s so cute!” Soleil crooned.

“Okay, sorry Will, this is getting a little…” Morgan began, trailing off when Kjelle finally got up.

“Kjelle, what the hell is so interesting outside?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t know,” she started. “Something’s going-”

Whatever else she was about to say was lost when the ground shook and the windows facing the street shattered with an ear-splitting crash. Morgan had just enough time to scream “Down!” before Kjelle spun and tacked her to the comparative safety of the floor. Morgan slowly rose a moment later, her ears still ringing and Kjelle rolling off her.

“Squad… ugh… First Squad sound off!” she managed to choke out.

“Alive,” Kjelle groaned.

“Here!” Sophie said.

“What the hell was that?” Soleil asked.

Both Nohrian girls emerged from beneath the table, seemingly unharmed. Isabella stuck her head up, too her eyes wide and terrified.

“Will?” she asked in a small voice.

“I’m okay,” the boy groaned. “Just… bumped my head.”

Morgan looked over to where Will was pulling himself up on a nearby table, shaking his head as he held a hand to his brow. A small trail of blood ran down his face from his hairline, and without a second thought Morgan tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt to act as a bandage.

“Squad, spread out, check the civvies for wounded,” she said. “Kjelle, recon. Find out what’s going on.”

“On it,” the taller girl said, already moving through the ruined café.

Sophie and Soleil moved into the dazed café patrons, leaving Morgan with Will and Isabella. As gently as she could Morgan lowered Will into the closest chair, Isabella hovering with a worried expression.

“He’ll be fine,” Morgan assured the younger girl. “He’s thick-skulled.”

“Kinda glad I decided it was worth the abuse to meet the transfers,” Will mumbled. “We were sitting near the windows.”

Isabella nodded, taking one of Will’s hands in hers as Morgan inspected his injury. She pursed her lips at this, but shook her head.

“Looks clean, but you’ll need stitches.”

“I always seem to need stitches when you’re involved,” he laughed.

Morgan shook her head and grinned, wrapping the strip she’d torn from her shirt around his head.

“By now you’d think you’d have learned to keep your head down,” she chuckled. “Both of you stay here and stay low, okay?”

Isabella nodded, taking Will’s arm and helping him down to the floor. “Be careful, Morgan,” he called after her. She grinned over her shoulder before joining Kjelle squatting near the broken windows. The Market Square was a mess, the paved surface destroyed by whatever had exploded. On the other side of the square three large vans rolled up, each one disgorging at least ten armed men. Ten armed men that began to indiscriminately open fire into the square and the surrounding shops.

“What the hell is this?” Kjelle growled.

“Terrorism, you think?” Morgan asked.

“Doesn’t matter right now. We need to get the hell out of here,” Kjelle responded.

“Agreed,” Morgan nodded. “We get the civilians out through the back, follow after them and try to link up with the rest of the squad-”

She hesitated, her phone going off in her pocket in a screech of guitars and drums. One look at the caller ID pushed a relieved sigh from her chest.

“Severa?” she asked, answering the call.

“What was that explosion?” her friend asked.

“Unknown. Where are you? Are Midori and Inigo still with you?”

“Yeah, they’re here. We’re two blocks out, heading from the south.”

“You know the café next to the CD store?”

“Yeah, you’ve dragged me there that many times.”

“Meet us behind it. We need to get to Owain and the others.”

“… Acknowledged.”

The call went dead, Morgan returning her phone to her pocket. It was funny to her how fast they switched to the military communication protocols that had been drummed into them during Comms Classes.

“Get the civilians out through the back,” she called to the two Nohrians. “Everyone that can move go now, head south into the city. Is anyone seriously injured?”

“A few lacerations from the glass. One serious, but we’ve managed to stop the bleeding for now. Three dead,” Sophie reported in a thick voice.

Morgan closed her eyes for a moment, nodding. “Get everyone into the alley and heading south.”

Before Morgan could get up and help with the evacuation Kjelle grabbed her and pulled her back to the floor, their boots crunching on the broken glass.

“Get down!” Kjelle hissed.

Two more vans like the ones across the square had rolled up right outside of the café, pouring men out into the market. Morgan got a look at them, surprised to find more than a few women among their number, as well. All were uniformly shabby, and all wore black scarves around their faces. Without further word, the new arrivals began to array themselves in front of the closest storefronts and opened fire. They were wielding older pattern rifles and shotguns, nothing that a civilian couldn’t buy. No military-grade hardware, at the least.

“Go!” Morgan whispered to Soleil and Sophie. “Get them outside! Quietly!”

The two girls nodded, hushing the terrified customers and staff and continuing to usher them out through the back. Morgan glanced up as two more of the attackers approached the café, Kjelle grinning wickedly.

“One for you, one for me,” she whispered, before rolling beneath the window and to the other side. The broken glass cut through the soft fabric of the hoodie she’d thrown over her workout clothes, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead she pulled one of the blunt knives that had been on the tables of the café out of her pocket, holding it like a combat knife. Morgan looked around, the most workable weapon she could find being a long shard of glass from the window.

Morgan held a finger to her lips, Kjelle nodding at the signal. The squad leader glanced up, realizing that the attackers were going to basically poke their heads into the café. Amateurs, then, she reasoned. Fanatics of some sort, with no real training. Easy pickings for the pride of the Ylissean military school program. Kjelle moved first, jumping up and grabbing her foe’s gun, using that and the element of surprise to drag him through the broken window and into the café. She pounced on him, burying her appropriated knife in his eye before he could even scream. Morgan moved a fraction of a second later, leading with her shard of glass and slashing at the wrist of her own foe. He yelped, reeling back, but Morgan grabbed the wounded arm he’d released his gun with and dragged him into the café as well. He landed on his face, and Morgan jammed the shard into his neck. Blood spurted, and Morgan’s eyes went wide.

She’d just killed for the first time, and it terrified her how easy it had been.

“Morgan, get it together!” Kjelle hissed.

The other girl had already shouldered the butt of her own appropriated rifle, and Morgan worked quickly to disentangle the other weapon’s strap from its former owner before they retreated out the back of the café. It had been hard, and the fact that her hands were still shaking hadn’t made it any easier.

More gunshots were echoing from the other shops nearby, and Morgan did her best to shut out the screaming. They followed the alley south, Sophie sticking her head around the nearest corner before urging them on with a quick wave. They emerged onto another street to find the civilians were in full exodus, fleeing from the shooting and the screaming. It was exactly what Morgan wanted to do, but she couldn’t just run away.

To her relief, though, she and Kjelle found Severa and her group waiting with the others. Midori looked terrified from where she was inspecting the wound to Will’s head, Isabella watching on intently. Inigo was standing behind Severa and the two Nohrian girls, all looking expectantly at Morgan and Kjelle. Severa recoiled, though, when she caught sight of the squad leader.

“Morgan, you’re covered in blood!” she half shouted.

“I’m fine,” Morgan assured her. “He didn’t… want to give me the gun.”

“I’ll bet,” Severa deadpanned.

“What now?” Kjelle asked, her question punctuated by more shots from the square.

Morgan shook her head a little.

“It won’t take them long to move into the city,” she reasoned. “There’s no telling how many people they’ll hurt if they do, or how long it’ll take to ferret them out. We… we need to keep them occupied. Give them something to shoot at until the City Guard arrive. Maybe take some of them out. More importantly, though, we need to find Owain, Noire and Ophelia.”

“What are we supposed to do? There’s seven of us and only two guns,” Soleil pointed out.

“Nine,” Will spoke up. He climbed to his feet unassisted, rolling out his neck. “Isabella and I can help. We’re not about to run from this.”

Behind him Isabella nodded, standing next to Midori.

“Okay then,” Morgan said. “Two teams. Me, Severa, Sophie and Soleil will try to get more guns. Kjelle, take everyone else and find Owain and the others. Meet back here straight away.”

“Try his cell,” Severa suggested.

“I got it,” Inigo said, pulling his phone out.

“Meet back here, try not to engage,” Morgan said. “And please, be careful, guys.”

* * *

Shots pinged off the brick wall above Morgan as she ducked down behind one of the large stone garden beds that dotted the square. She cursed, pressing her back to the stone surface and glancing at Severa behind her. Sophie and Soleil had gone ahead of them, leaving the two to cover them as they retreated to one of the nearby alleyways with their arms full of weapons for the others.

“Gawds! Just when I thought this was going to be easy! This is all Owain’s fault!”

Morgan smirked, lifting her rifle and firing blindly above the garden.

“I’m sure he’s worried about you, too,” she laughed.

Severa growled, emulating Morgan and emptying her clip in the vague direction of their attackers. They had found a lot of guns and a lot more ammo in the vans. Another amateur mistake by the attackers. It was like they wanted organized resistance or something.

“Dammit, where are the City Guard!?” Severa muttered to herself. With quick, practiced motions she ejected the spent clip, slotting another into place and loading the rifle.

“There’s a good chance that this isn’t the only pace being attacked,” Morgan pointed out, reloading her own weapon.

Severa froze, her face going slack. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Which is why,” Morgan said, punctuating her statement by pulling the cocking handle back and releasing it with a satisfying ‘chack’, “we hold them here as long as we can.”

“You watch too many movies, you know that?”

“You know you love it.”

Before Severa could retort further Morgan spun, lifting her head above the garden bed just long enough to check the enemy’s positions before ducking back under a hail of fire.

“They really don’t like us,” Morgan said unnecessarily.

“They’re also really bad shots,” Severa pointed out. “Most of them aren’t even hitting the flower bed.”

The shooting stopped at once, and Morgan barked out a laugh. “They’re not timing their shots or reloads, either!”

Morgan rose onto her knees, resting her appropriated rifle on the lip of the flower bed and opening fire. From this distance she couldn’t really use the weapon to its full effect; the attackers were on the other side of the square, after all. But she had been trained, and with something solid to rest her gun on her accuracy was much better than theirs. Noire could have made the shots easy, but she was the squad’s sniper for a reason, after all. Exhaling, Morgan squeezed the trigger three times, firing in short and controlled bursts. Most of the shots went wide, but one of the enemy did cry out and drop to the ground, a burst of red coming from his thigh.

“Damn, I was aiming for his chest,” Morgan muttered as her rifle clicked dry.

As she ducked back into cover Severa was already taking up a similar position, firing from the lip of the flower bed the way Morgan had. This sustained onslaught, while absolutely pathetic in military terms, still caused the amateur attackers to retreat to the relative safety behind their vans.

Behind their vans and directly into the crossfire that Kjelle and the others had set up.

Shots began flying from the nearby alleyways as the rest of Morgan’s squad unloaded into the stunned attackers. The surviving men and women began to panic, running away towards the main road, the five attackers running so that the vans were between them and Kjelle’s group.

“Dammit, take them out before they make it into the city!” Morgan shouted, rising to her feet.

If even one of them got away innocent lives could still be lost…

The resounding crack of a high caliber rifle sounded three times, and three of the attackers dropped. Morgan’s eyes went wide as, instead of the City Guard she’d been expecting three Paladin bikes rolled up to the square. An older man in a long black leather trench coat jumped off the first one, pulling two pistols out from beneath his coat, one in each hand. He didn’t even need to. One perfect shot to the head of each remaining attacker before they could take so much as another step towards the street.

The man that had been driving the Paladin stepped off, too, an ornate broadsword hanging from his hip beneath his Ylissean army jacket.

“Spread out!” Prince Chrom shouted. “Shepherds, secure the square! Frederick, just like we planned!”

One of the other Paladin riders nodded, accelerating hard and sliding around the corner.

“Everyone, see to the citizens! Robin, check on the kids!”

Morgan sagged against the flower bed as the Shepherds began to pile into the square, securing the vans and checking the storefronts for survivors.

“Well, we did it,” Severa sighed, sitting on the lip of the flower bed next to Morgan. “I ruined my new sweater and my favorite boots, but we did it.”

There was a loud sound of engines from above them as two Pegasus jet-bikes zoomed overhead, Severa narrowing her eyes at the sight. Across the square the rest of the squad were starting to materialize out of the alleys now, passing on any information about where the civilians were hiding and what the number of wounded were like to the Shepherds.

“Well, at least you’re not fixing any holes in them. Trust me, bullet holes are a bitch to fix. Why do you think I send all my old clothes to Morgan?”

The two girls glanced up, the man in the coat beaming down at them.

“Hi honey,” Robin added, grinning at his daughter. “For future reference when faced by more numerous and better armed foes the standard operating tactic is to retreat. But I’ll save that lecture for another day. You did a good job today. I’m proud of you.”

Morgan nodded, grinning a little. “What took you so long, dad? We were running out of stuff to shoot.”

**_Finished 2017_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2019: An AU story I wrote for reasons once again lost to time. I think I was bored. But yeah, I combined elements of Awakening, Fates, Tokyo Mirage Sessions and Advance Wars: Days of Ruin and (surprisingly) it came out okay. I actually really liked the way this one turned out, but when I tried to continue it I just kinda couldn’t find the magic again. Still, works well as an experimental one-shot in my mind.


	4. Path of Radiance - Can Laguz See Water?

Jill walked slowly through the Greil Mercenaries’ camp one evening, thinking to herself as she allowed her feet to carry her through the motions of her guard route. Her poleaxe bounced against her green pauldron with each step, eyes roving over the perimeter of the mansion that the Greil Mercenaries were camped in.

Ever since she had forced herself into the mercenary company on route to Begnion she had been almost buried under new knowledge about inter-species politics. Until a few weeks ago she hadn’t even known such a thing existed. All she had known were that sub-humans – that Laguz - were the enemy, that they were to be hunted, exterminated, for sport. Since joining with Ike’s company she had learned that so much she thought about the Laguz was wrong. The Laguz were as varied and complicated as Humans – Beorc – and had thriving cultures in no less than three separate countries. The thought had shocked the young Daein soldier.

Her conversations with Lethe, in particular, had been illuminating.

Jiff frowned as she continued to march, her thoughts of the cat Laguz making her think in turn about something she’d heard in passing the other day. The big Knight Gatrie had been feeding some cats with Mist, bringing them fresh milk. When the younger girl had asked _“why not water?”_ the Knight had responded with _“because cats can’t see water”._

The thought had stuck in the back of Jill’s head, jumping back to the fore when she had seen the Laguz transform during their recent fight against the slave traders. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She was so distracted she didn’t even realize that her shift was ending until Oscar came and tapped her on the shoulder, smiling his usual serene smile as he leaned his lance against his shoulder.

“Everything alright, Jill?” he asked.

“Yes, sorry,” she said quickly, snapping to attention. “Nothing to report.”

“That’s good,” Oscar chuckled. “Maybe you’d better go get some food. Mist put some aside for you.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said awkwardly.

Jill spun woodenly before marching off in the direction of the bunk she was sharing with Mist, ducking her head to hide the embarrassed blush rising to her cheeks. Spacing out like that would have seen her flogged back in the Daein army. Or, under any commander besides Haar it would have; the man was borderline narcoleptic he napped so often.

Sighing and suppressing her homesickness, Jill returned to her quarters and stripped off her armor. She placed it in a neat pile at the end of her bed, positioned so that she could throw it back on at a moment’s notice if she needed to, and then leaned her axe next to it. She felt odd surrounded by so many people who weren’t countrymen without her armor on, even more-so considering the Laguz, but that was the feeling she was trying to overcome.

Clad only in her mustard-drab tunic, leggings and tall riding boots now, Jill took a deep breath and straightened her posture. Then, marching as if King Ashnard himself was watching, she strode boldly and proudly through the mansion towards the dining room. Just in case she ran into anyone else.

She found Mist in the kitchens with Rolf and Rhys, the three of them cleaning the dishes and pots that had been used for dinner. As a rule, Jill tended to avoid crowded meal times, although lately Mist had been forcing her to attend more and more. It was nice to feel like her presence was wanted, but Jill couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the majority of the Crimean soldiers would rather her not be present.

The young mercenary cleric spun, a wide smile alighting her face when she spotted the wyvern rider.

“Jill! There you are!” Mist greeted, wiping her hands off on a rag before practically bouncing up to her. “I saved you a plate. It was venison stew, I hope you like it.”

Jill nodded, leaning back against a counter across the room and watching the Crimean mercenaries cleaning as Mist went to fetch her food. Jill had told her a number of times that she didn’t need waiting on, but Mist persisted, claiming it made her feel useful. The younger girl reappeared a moment later, carrying a platter with a tall, steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of dried bread for dipping. Jill wasn’t afraid to admit she was hungry, but preoccupied as she was, she had barely noticed her friend’s return.

“Here you go!” Mist said proudly. “I made the bread myself this morning, too. Eat up!”

Jill smiled, setting the platter down and picking up the bowl.

“Thank you, Mist,” she said as she started to eat.

Her motions were mechanical, though, and she barely tasted the delicious stew as she stared off into space. It wasn’t like her to be so unfocussed, but given that her entire world had recently been turned on its head Jill had become accustomed to over-thinking. Mist noticed her friend’s far-away expression, the younger girl’s own face twisting in a concerned frown.

“Jill, what’s wrong?” Mist asked. “Are you not feeling well?”

“What? No, I’m fine, just preoccupied,” Jill said a little too quickly.

“Well, what’s on your mind?” Mist asked. “Are you still feeling homesick?”

“No, it’s not that,” Jill sighed, looking around to make sure no one was listening before dropping her voice low. “I am preoccupied with Lady Lethe.”

“Why? Did she say something mean to you again?” Mist huffed, crossing her arms. “I’ll have a word to Ike, he’ll straighten her out. We’re all friends here and-”

“No, no, please Mist!” Jill said, quickly hushing the girl. “I was just thinking about something I overheard the other day and… I must be tired, because I can’t put it out of my mind.”

“Oh, okay,” Mist said, clearly not understanding.

“Well, okay,” Jill said, looking down at her bowl. “I overheard you and Gatrie talking about how cats can’t see water. And I got to thinking, Lethe turns into a cat, right? Does that mean she can’t see water too?”

Mist opened her mouth to respond, before closing it again quickly as her eyes widened.

“That is… I don’t know,” she said slowly. “What if she can’t? Is that why she was so grumpy on the boat?”

“I know!” Jill said quickly. “And what if we’re fighting in a swamp, or by a river, like we were the other day? What if she falls in the water because she couldn’t see it?”

Mist gasped, both hands flying up to cover her mouth in astonishment.

“Oh no! We have to go tell Ike and Soren! This could be serious!” she said in a hushed whisper.

“No!” Jill said quickly, before looking down at her bowl again. “I don’t… want to look like an ignorant Daein grunt again. Maybe we can test the theory first?”

Mist nodded sympathetically, leaning against the table next to the taller girl.

“Okay, so how do we test her?” she asked.

Jill frowned, realizing that she had absolutely no idea.

* * *

The next morning, after both girls had stayed up late planning and talking, Jill and Mist still had no idea how to test whether Lethe could see water or not.

“I just don’t know,” Mist sighed gloomily. “It hasn’t even been raining lately! And we were too busy the other day to watch her around the rivers.”

Jill let out a wordless sigh as they both tromped into the kitchen. It had been a fruitless night of planning; the problem was being subtle about the issue. It wouldn’t take any effort at all to simply dump a bucket of water on Lethe’s head, but aside from being a suicidal course of action given Lethe’s legendary ill temperament, it wouldn’t prove anything. So far, the best thing Jill could come up with was dropping a coin into a bucket of water and then asking the Laguz to pull it out. But she couldn’t think of a justification as to why she wouldn’t just be able to pull the coin out herself.

With a combined sigh the two girls set about preparing breakfast. Oscar and Brom had been on the early preparation duty that morning, meaning that the bread was cooked to a golden perfection and the oats were warm and ready to be served. But Jill and Mist barely noticed the tantalizing scents as they went about preparing enough bowls and utensils for the company.

“What if we made a really big puddle?” Mist suggested. “Then stood on the other side and asked Lethe to join us?”

“Okay,” Jill nodded. “But this is Lethe. She’s not going to just walk over to us without a reason.”

“She really is just like a cat, isn’t she?” Mist sighed, shaking her head.

The two of them settled back against the nearby counter, both lost in their thoughts. Even as the nearby dining room began to fill, the sounds of their friends and companions growing louder in the next room as more and more assembled, the girls paid it no mind until Ike entered the kitchen.

“Mist? Jill? Everything alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Oh! Brother!” Mist said, jumping a little.

Jill blinked, cursing herself for spacing out again.

“Yes, Captain, everything’s fine,” she said, snapping to attention.

“Jill, I’ve already told you this isn’t the army, you don’t have to be so formal,” Ike said. “And we’re just wondering what’s taking so long with breakfast. Dining room’s full, and everyone’s hungry.”

Both girls exchanged a shocked glance before bursting into motion, Mist stirring at the porridge while Jill began collecting the cooled loaves of bread on some plates.

“Sorry, brother, we were distracted,” Mist said.

“Must have been pretty serious,” Ike said, crossing his arms. “I’ve never seen you space out like that before.”

“We were just thinking-”

“Mist!” Jill hissed desperately.

“Well, we’re stuck!” Mist said with a frown. “And it’s just Ike! He’s my brother, he’s not going to judge you!”

Ike blinked a few times, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

“What’s going on?” he asked slowly.

“Jill’s worried about Lethe,” Mist said, before the other girl could speak. “We’re worried that she can’t see water, like a cat, and it might get her into trouble in battle, and we’re trying to figure out how to test if she can see it.”

Jill cringed, blushing a little as she froze under Ike’s blank gaze. After a few moments the young mercenary uncrossed his arms, before crossing them again, apparently still confused by their logic.

“You know she’s a Laguz, not a cat, right?” Ike pointed out.

“But she turns into a cat!” Jill explained weakly.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Ike nodded. “And you’re right that it could become a liability on the battlefield… Right. Okay, I’ll handle this.”

“You will?” Mist asked, unconvinced.

Ike nodded, turning on his heel and walking back to the dining room. As he approached the door Jill felt her heart jump up to her throat, terror gripping her as Ike stuck his head out and-

“Hey! Lethe!” the mercenary captain called. “Can you see water!?”

The sound of conversation instantly died, the silence so absolute Jill could hear her own thundering heartbeat as she and Mist exchanged glances.

“What!?” the cat Laguz roared after a moment, giving an angry hiss for good measure. “Of course I can, you stupid human! I am a Laguz, not a common housecat!”

“Thought so,” Ike said.

As Mist’s brother ducked back into the kitchen the dining room exploded with laughter, Jill and Mist blushing furiously at the Captain’s antics. Lethe had begun shouting something else, probably at Mordecai for trying to calm her down, but the closed door mercifully muted the sound.

“Problem solved,” Ike said. “I’ll give you a hand with breakfast. Come on.”

“Ike, we were trying to be more subtle than that!” Mist hissed in exasperation.

He just shrugged. “When it concerns the welfare of someone in my company, I have to take it seriously. Your hearts were in the right place, though. I’m sure if you explain that to her she won’t be that mad.”

Jill and Mist just nodded, going about preparing large platters of oats and bread for the hungry mercenaries. Ike pitched in, and before long they were ready to be brought out to the rest of the group. The trio stepped back and admired their handiwork before a rare grin rose to Ike’s lips and he shook his head.

“You know, this question would have been solved a lot faster if you two had just followed her into the baths,” Ike laughed.

Jill and Mist both froze, exchanging wide eyed glances before Mist looked back to Ike.

“But… do Laguz even bathe?” Mist asked in a whisper.

**_Finished 2019_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2019: I wrote this, again, in one sitting as an entry for a PoR fanzine at the start of the year/end of last year. It was rejected (unfortunately (not surprising, it felt like the kind of thing a bunch of friends were doing, so I didn’t stand much chance from the beginning)) but I really did like what I’d done. So I posted it for my Patrons in January, and now I’m publishing it here. For funzies.


	5. Awakening - Blossom of Cold Steel part 1

_"Here, use this.”_

That was all he’d said to her.

Two armored Valmese soldiers had been attacking an, admittedly stunningly beautiful, woman in Valm Harbor during the beachhead and Robin had dealt with them handily. Who were a few measly grunts to the Shepherds’ Tactician, after all? A couple of Elthunder spells he’d barely put any effort at all into and he’d been done, and the woman had been safe. Then she had asked to join their cause, and without so much as pausing on his way Robin had tossed her his sword, which he had barely been using lately anyway, told her to use it and gone to the grisly work of clearing the harbor with naught but his spellcraft and tomes. To his surprise she had actually kept pace with him during the fight. Even more surprising was the identity she had revealed when the fighting was done.

Turned out she hadn’t been just some resistance fighter, she had been _the_ resistance fighter; their leader, Say’ri of Chon’sin. And a dispossessed Princess of a small local nation subjugated by Valm. And also, their local contact. And in his haste, he had barely spared her a glance.

“Stupid,” Robin breathed, berating himself.

She was apparently having a meeting with Chrom and Sumia right now, as world-leaders are wont to do. Robin had decided it was in his best interests to avoid any potential awkwardness and had decided to focus instead on ‘overseeing the disembarking of the remaining troops in Chrom’s stead’, watching from the raised tier of the town proper above the lower beach.

Not that there was much to do, Robin thought with a sigh as he leaned on the railing, resting his chin in his palm. The Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers were camped outside the town, and the platoon and regimental officers knew what they were doing. Men were coming off the ships and strolling through the town, getting out of the way so that more could do the same. It hardly warranted his attention, but it needed to be done. A fair few soldiers had stopped to visit with local stores and get real food now; apparently Ylissean gold was as good here as it was back east. They had been warned, though, not to over-tax the town’s local ecosystem. It was no good liberating these people if the army ate them out of house and home in the process. A few more soldiers had been shepherded away from certain streets with red lanterns and suggestively sultry voices calling out to the foreign soldiers, and now several of the Ylissean officers were stationed at the mouth of the red-light district to ‘dissuade’ the rest of the army. Robin was surprised there hadn’t been a riot at the sight of women and actual food, but he figured that the men were tired after the fighting. Instead they shuffled through the town at the behest of their commanders, dutifully moving to the muster point in the fields past the town gates.

“Isn’t there an important meeting you are supposed to be at right now?”

Robin glanced up as two separate pairs of footsteps approached, distracted from his absent musings, his closest friends in the Shepherds coming up behind him. The Dark Mage Tharja and the archer Virion, his two constant companions for the last three years. Tharja had had an unhealthy obsession with him that they had only recently put to rest, something Robin was quietly very grateful for. She was also one of the most beautiful members of the Shepherds, an exotic Plegian woman who wasn’t afraid to flaunt her full figure through the traditional sheer bodysuits of her creed even in the permanent wintery chill of Regna Ferox, her perfectly straight black hair falling down the back of the thick black cloak she wore over it. Virion, on the other hand, was a silver-tongued devil that delighted in nothing more than making sure every woman he met knew how beautiful they were. His perfect, shoulder length hair was brushed back, revealing the angular, patrician face of ‘the noblest of nobility’, in his own words. He dressed like one, too, all ruffles and frilled shirts under his leathers that had earned him his camp nickname ‘Ruffles’. Only recently had it come to light that the ‘archest of archers’ was actually dispossessed nobility from Valm himself, who had journeyed to Ylisse looking for asylum.

“And do not say you had to supervise the most auspicious of disembarkations,” Virion added. “We could very well have supervised this ourselves.”

Robin smirked, going back to watching the beach as his friends came up beside him.

“It was a rough day,” he admitted. “I didn’t feel like playing politics yet.”

“Ah, so it was respite you craved so,” Virion nodded sagely. “Fear not, my friend! For I, Virion, have some of the finest tea leaves from my beloved home in Rosanne that will alleviate your-”

“You speak so much, yet say so little,” Tharja hissed. “Respite usually means ‘quiet’.”

“Oh! You wound me, my lovely companion!” Virion gasped theatrically. “Alack, I fear your barbed tongue is offset only by your bewitching beauty!”

“Literally,” Tharja reminded him. “Literally bewitching. Don’t push me. And you could have just said ‘I have tea’.”

“Posh, where is the fun in that?” Virion scoffed.

Robin couldn’t help but smirk at the duo’s familiar banter. One wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, but the pair were actually quite good friends, too. Tharja simply acted prickly to everyone and Virion would hit on just about anything with a pulse, so of course there had been friction at first, but they had settled into this routine after a while and it actually calmed Robin’s heart to see it.

“Ah, we made him smile,” Virion said with a grin of his own.

“Yes, your buffoonery has a tendency to amuse people,” Tharja muttered, rolling her striking violet eyes.

“Did the two of you happen to see the local Princess earlier?” Robin asked, cutting off another argument before it could start.

Virion perked up instantly, Robin almost regretting asking when he saw the look on the other man’s face. And the sour look on Tharja’s; she still wasn’t overly fond of other women going near him.

“Ah, yes, the noble Princess of Chon’sin!” Virion crowed. “Truly she is the most beautiful of beauties, an exotic flower blooming in the hell of wartime that- argh, Tharja dear not the ears ow!”

Robin barked out a laugh as the dark mage yanked on Virion’s ear to stop him mid-rant, the taller man bending awkwardly to try and ease the pain of her hold.

“Okay, so have you seen her recently?” Robin managed to chuckle. “I loaned her my sword and I feel naked without it.”

This time it was Tharja that perked up, releasing Virion in her distraction, clearly excited by the prospect of Robin being naked in any way. Virion hissed as he rubbed at his ear, frowning and subtly moving just out of Tharja’s reach.

“Naga help you if you stretch the lobes, woman…” he muttered before turning back to the tactician. “She is most likely still in that meeting you are tactically avoiding.”

“If it’s tactically it counts as work,” Robin shrugged, grinning.

“I don’t like her,” Tharja grumbled.

“You do not like anyone,” Virion sighed.

“You haven’t even met her, give her a chance,” Robin said. “Knowing Chrom he’ll make her a Shepherd before the sun goes down, and we’ll have to work with her anyway. And Naga knows we could use another decent swordsman in the Shepherds.”

Virion and Tharja both gave him a strange look, and Robin realized what he’d just said. With a muttered curse he ran a hand through his hair, leaning back on the railing with a long sigh. They had lost Gregor on the way to Valm, the genial older mercenary’s sacrifice allowing for Robin’s plan to break the Valmese blockade to go off without a hitch. One old man had died so that hundreds of Ylissean soldiers could survive to make landfall.

Gregor had also been the first Shepherd casualty since Robin had taken over as tactician.

“Dammit, that’s not what I meant,” Robin muttered, half to himself.

“We know,” Virion said, his grandiose personality subdued as Tharja rested a comforting hand on the tactician’s shoulder.

“Okay, enough self-pity,” Robin said with a groan, forcing a sense of good cheer. “Let’s commence operation ‘get Robin his sword back’.”

“Very well, what do you need of us?” Virion declared.

“Quiet,” Tharja suggested. “As in that ‘respite’ you were talking about.”

“Actually,” Robin started with a devilish grin, a familiar glint in his eyes that instantly sent shivers up Tharja and Virion’s spines.

* * *

Robin hummed a little as he skipped into the mess tent later that evening, Tharja and Virion probably still waist-deep in cargo manifests and crates of supplies aboard the ships that had carried the Ylisseans to Valm. He had felt a little guilty at first about offloading all of his work onto them but reasoned the feeling away by telling himself that in the end they had been the ones that had offered. With his friends taking on the most tedious tasks Robin had had ample time to do up some quick duty rosters and guard rotations and stick them on Frederick’s camp-table before heading for dinner.

This would probably be the first time in a very long time he’d been on time for a meal, he realized.

Pushing the tent flaps aside as he stepped into the camp’s mess, he was assailed by a wall of light and sound and smell, his senses taking a familiar and nostalgic beating as he beheld the Shepherds having dinner together. It was a chaotic, loud mess, the same as always. But now there were new faces adding to the chaos, something Robin found at once amusing and melancholy. Ever since Lucina had joined them in Plegia they had gone around picking up the other time-travelling Shepherds, the original Shepherds’ children. Many of them were present now, eating and drinking and laughing with their families. Laurent talking about something to do with seawater with his mother Miriel, while Vaike just looked on with a blank expression on his face. Cynthia regaling Severa, Cordelia and Sumia with her exploits from the day’s fighting, even though all three women had been there with her. Owain eating quietly, subtly rubbing at the bruise on the back of his head where Lon’qu had no doubt cuffed the boy for being an annoyance, Lissa looking on with an expression like she was fit to burst into a fit of giggles at any moment. Sully and Kjelle, fresh from the training fields. Gerome and Cherche, eating quietly near the back flap where their wyverns could poke their heads in. Nah trying desperately to teach her mother table manners. Yarne and Panne discussing Taguel eating habits.

It was nice, but Robin had to admit that he felt more than a little jealousy at the sight.

Before he could consider eating in his tent away from all the happy families Chrom spotted him and waved the tactician over. The Prince’s table was already occupied, but there was still more than enough space for him, so Robin relented with a quiet sigh through his nose, grabbed a bowl of stew that Stahl seemed all-too-happy to ladle out for him, and took a seat at the table.

Lucina sat next to her father, offering Robin a polite nod, and Tharja’s daughter Noire was on her other side, the timid archer giving Robin a silent little wave and smile. The other person at the table sat a little away from the others, looking curiously at the contents of her bowl. It was the Chon’sinian Princess, Say’ri. She looked up, her eyes meeting Robin’s in a brief moment of recognition before his attention was stolen back by the only other man at the table.

“Well, this is rare,” Chrom chuckled. “What finally drew you away from your books?”

“First of all, they’re your books,” Robin smirked. “Second of all, I had help this afternoon, another thing that’s rare around here.”

Chrom let out a deep belly-laugh, slapping Robin on the shoulder before continuing to eat.

“Sorry, Noire, but your mother is going to be a little while yet,” Robin added with a guilty grin.

“And you wonder why no one offers to help you,” Chrom said around a hunk of bread. “It takes two people twice as long to do your work!”

Lucina sighed, looking down in embarrassment at her father’s lack of table manners. “Father, please…”

“Bah, we’re all friends here,” Chrom waved her off. “Besides, it’s nice to finally get a chance to relax again. I swear, back in Ylisse Frederick is worse than the tutors I had when I was young. Ah, sorry, Lady Say’ri. Introductions! This is Robin, my tactician.”

“We have met,” the foreign Princess said, her accent giving the Ylissean language a strange lilting tone. “Of course, ‘twas on the battlefield and there was no time for pleasantries.”

“Er, yeah, sorry about that,” Robin said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

“Fie, apologize not! Were it not for you I fear I would not be sitting here right now,” Say’ri said with a smile. “But please allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Say’ri of Chon’sin, and in your words I am the Crown Princess, first in line for the throne. I am also leader of the Valmese Resistance. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As she spoke she bowed her head, something Robin found to be a little odd. When she sat back up he nodded. “And I’m, ah, Robin. The Shepherds’ tactician. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Finished with his awkward introduction he thrust his hand forward automatically, meaning to shake hands. Say’ri jumped a little, looking at his offered hand curiously before smiling again.

“I forget that Ylisseans greet each other this way,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice as she took his hand.

Robin nodded, pumping their hands a few times before sitting back in his chair and making a very serious study of his stew. That had been… awkward. One would assume after all the royalty and nobility he was already acquainted with he would be better at introductions.

“I find that is quite astonishing, though, that you and your allies have travelled from the future, Lady Lucina,” Say’ri said conversationally. “Tis truly a tale worthy of legend.”

The sound of Lucina dropping her spoon brought Robin’s gaze back up, the tactician sharing a chuckle with Chrom as she went bright red. One thing both men had learned was that Lucina was utterly incapable of taking a compliment.

“N-no, I am merely trying to save my own future, we are… ah, that is the others are far more… uh, Noire?”

The raven-haired archer in question looked up and froze, her eyes as wide as her mouth as she stopped with her spoon halfway from her bowl. Of course, this just made Chrom and Robin laugh even harder, both girls going beet-red as a slightly confused Say’ri looked on with a tilt of her head.

* * *

The next morning Robin found himself awake far earlier than he usually was, thanks in no small part to actually getting to bed early for a change, and decided some early training was in order. He was good, but they were marching to war. He needed to be better than good to make sure that no one else died.

Thinking this he approached the area that had been set aside for training in the Shepherd camp, the weak pre-dawn light casting everything in hues of grey. Quite a large section of the field they were camped in had been set aside in the center of the camp; they had once tried to minimize space during the Plegian War, but Sully and Vaike had gotten carried away and knocked over several tents before Frederick had stopped them. Then there was the time that Nowi had burned down another three tents; Ricken had taken the fall for that, he didn’t think Robin knew, but he did. Then there was the time that Gregor had thrown Gaius through another nearby tent, and… they had learned their lesson. The training grounds were given a high priority for space.

As he got closer he realized that the training area was already occupied, judging by the grunts and the continual swish of a weapon through the air. He slowed his pace, not wanting to have to spar with Chrom or Lon’qu if either man were already present but was surprised to see Say’ri training in a stripped-down version of her usual attire. Wearing only her strange robe-like clothes without the outer layer and her white armor, Say’ri spun and struck at the air in an intricate series of attacks. She had also tied her hair back, Robin realized, her straight, long brown hair tied in a tight ponytail at the back of her head. In the morning light her routine looked more like a dance to the tactician, her cheeks flush with exertion and her skin shining with sweat. Clearly, she’d been at this for a while.

As he watched she spun the sword, bringing her routine to an end and standing perfectly still for a moment before turning to face him.

“Good morning, Sir Robin,” she said politely.

“Ah! Good morning, Princess,” Robin said quickly, feeling a blush rising to his face. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, I just… that was… ah… sorry…”

Say’ri let out a musical, girlish giggle, the sound both strangely out of place for the warrior princess yet also fitting. She held up the sword she’d been using, flipping it around in her grip and offering the hilt to him.

“Tis a fine sword,” she said. “I thank you for allowing me to keep it so long.”

Robin blinked for a moment before he realized that she was offering him his sword, which he hadn’t retrieved yesterday. Her own blades were sheathed on the grass to one side, next to a towel and a waterskin; one sword was almost a meter long, the other half the length sitting next to it. Robin felt his face heat up again as he accepted his weapon with a grateful nod. He hadn’t even realized his own sheathe was empty. Perhaps he wasn’t as awake as he’d thought. The beautiful rapier he’d been gifted by Chrom glinted in the pre-dawn light, clearly freshly cleaned and polished. Obviously Say’ri had taken the time to-

“Would you care to spar, Sir Robin?”

His thoughts interrupted he glanced up from his sword, watching as Say’ri moved to retrieve one of her own twin blades. “Uh… sure, I guess. It’s been a while, honestly.”

“Fie! That will not do! Lord Chrom spoke of your skill with a blade before you arrived for dinner, t’would be a waste for such skills to atrophy.”

“I’m honestly more useful as a mage,” Robin shrugged.

Before Robin could even bring his weapon up Say’ri had dropped her own sword and was upon him, grabbing him by the collar and turning, flipping him easily over her shoulder with a tight shout. He had the briefest of moments to marvel at how a woman he had to have a good ten kilos and a good foot of height over could flip him so easily before he hit the dirt. Say’ri knelt on his chest with one knee, halting a knife-handed blow just short of crushing Robin’s throat.

“You are dead,” she said, smiling cheerily. “Your magic could not protect you.”

“Yeah, neither did my sword,” Robin groaned.

With a laugh the woman rose, offering her hand to pull Robin to his feet. He accepted gratefully, brushing the dust off of his coat before bending down for the sword he had dropped.

“My people train all our lives to make our sword arts reflexive, a part of us,” she explained. “The blade becomes an extension of our self, our reflexes honed by years of practice. Had you been training regularly you could have stopped me.”

Robin sighed, shrugging off his coat and tossing it to the edge of the training grounds.

“Alright, you made your point,” he said. “I’m just grateful there was no one around to see that. Bad for morale.”

Say’ri nodded again, drawing her weapon and casting her empty sheathe aside before moving back to the center of the training ground to take up a ready stance. Robin unstrapped the pouch that held his spellbooks from his hip, carefully placing it aside before emptying his pockets of the random detritus he tended to collect in his work next to it. Judging from what he’d seen he would need to be as light as possible to even stand a chance against her. Thinking this and stretching out his neck, Robin moved to stand across from her.

“Perhaps you’d prefer to warm up first?” she offered.

Robin shook his head, stepping back into his own ready stance. “I just went for a run before I came here. I’m as warmed up as I’ll ever be.”

“You went for a run in that thick coat?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her full lips.

“Of course,” Robin said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Very well,” Say’ri laughed. “I will not question Ylissean customs. En Garde!”

Robin barely had time to get his own sword up to parry her strike, Say’ri’s sword flashing like lighting. Letting her blade slide off his own he stepped back, re-evaluating his position. He reasoned that he was at a disadvantage against her two-handed style, so he’d need to keep distance between them. Their swords were roughly the same length but his was thinner, lighter, made for lunging where hers was clearly made for slashing. Judging from her earlier attack he didn’t have the advantage of speed, either, though. So, he would have to fight smart, trusting that his experience would win out for him.

Stepping forward Robin lunged, stabbing three times in quick succession in a perfect Ylissean-style, his off-hand low to balance him and his back leg practically straight. Say’ri danced out of his range, and deciding to press his attack Robin spun, flowing into a series of blunt Feroxi strikes to keep her on her toes. He spun again, striking high in a move that Chrom favored. Say’ri caught his blow on her own weapon, her face set in a bright grin as she pushed him back.

Robin had just enough time to think that perhaps he’d been a little too hasty with his attack before he was forced onto the defensive, Say’ri’s sword seemingly everywhere at once. She seemed to stick to three main strike zones, though, alternating through a simple pattern. Robin didn’t let himself get suckered, though, and when she suddenly struck low from the side he was ready, leaping aside in a roll that brought him back to his feet a few meters away.

Both of them were panting now, Robin heavier than her. Seeing he was tiring Say’ri pressed her attack this time, coming in low and fast. Robin simply sighed out his nose and held up his hands, sword hanging limply from his right and pointing down.

“I give up,” he said.

Say’ri faltered mid-strike, almost tripping as she pulled back.

“What?” she asked, almost shocked.

“I give up,” Robin repeated. “You’ve got me beat. I gotta say, though, you’re good. I’m impressed.”

She nodded, lowering her sword with a disappointed expression. “This is common duel-etiquette in Ylisse?”

“Duel? I thought we were just sparring?” Robin said, returning his sword to its sheathe.

“We were, but… fie, pay me no mind.”

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Robin said quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just wanted to get a feel for how you fought so I could assign you a position better and… sorry. I’m sorry.”

Say’ri stood for a moment before she gave a small nod. “No, I fear tis I who must apologize. In Chon’sin swordsmanship is a sacred art-form. We take it very seriously and I have never had… anyone surrender so… abruptly. Not when there was still ample chance of a recovery.”

Robin nodded, making a small sound of understanding. “Ah. I see. Well, things would be a little different if we were using training swords. I’m usually a far more willing training-dummy, just ask Chrom. Or Lucina. Or Sully. Actually, don’t ask Sully. But I’m getting distracted; I didn’t want to risk one of us getting hurt using real weapons. I meant no disrespect, Princess.”

It was Say’ri’s turn to nod her understanding this time, turning to retrieve her own belongings. “I understand. It appears it has been too long since I’ve simply trained, rather than fought for my life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Robin said honestly. There was a brief, awkward pause between them before Robin decided to try breaking the ice. “Have you eaten yet, Princess?”

There was a moment where Say’ri’s face went blank before her smile returned, a challenging tint to her voice as she turned and spoke. “After only a single round? Fie, you truly are out of practice.”

Robin blinked a few times before running his free hand through his hair and nodding, pacing back into the center of the training circle.

“Please be gentle, we do have to march today,” he said. “So. Best two out of three?”

* * *

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Tharja gave an angry hiss as Robin gingerly sank into the seat across from her, carefully positioning himself to avoid jostling his bruises.

“Which of those lummoxes did this to you?” she all but growled. “Was it the Prince again? I swear this time I’ll hex him-”

“No, Tharja, it wasn’t Chrom,” Robin said, his voice a breathy sigh of relief as he sat.

The mess tent was bustling as usual around them, the Shepherds tired yet spirits still high after a day spent marching. They were travelling east to an important location for those who followed the Naganite church, on Say’ri’s advice. They hoped to find the ‘Voice of Naga’, a supposed descendent of the Divine Dragon herself, and utilize their presence as a figurehead for the Resistance and the Ylissean League.

Robin gave a wry smirk at the thought. ‘The Ylissean League’.

Still it felt strange, their little band of Shepherds having such an auspicious name. It didn’t feel at all any different than when they fought against Gangrel, yet now there was an entire second continent looking to them for leadership.

Virion chose that moment to make his appearance, depositing three bowls of stew onto the table and sliding one towards Robin as he slid into the seat next to Tharja.

“You, good sir, look like hell,” the archer smirked.

“Gee, thanks,” Robin deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“Someone beat him up in the training grounds again and he won’t say who,” Tharja said acidly.

Virion shrugged, spooning some of the stew into his mouth and making a sour face. “Bah! Gods above, which simpleton was on cooking duty this day!?”

“That would be my daughter. The princess. Who has a very big sword, just like mine. Do you mind if we join you?”

Virion spun around so fast his hair shot out and slapped Tharja in the face, the Dark Mage giving an irritated growl. Chrom smiled down at the archer, holding a bowl of his own, and it was all Robin could do not to burst out laughing himself. Behind the Prince Sully did a far worse job of maintaining her composure, actually snorting before she clamped her jaw closed. Virion went an interesting shade of pale, jumping up from his seat and offering it to Chrom in absolute silence.

“Thank you, Virion,” Chrom nodded, letting a grin surface.

The Prince took the seat next to a visibly shying-away Tharja as Virion moved to sit next to Robin on the long bench, only to be bowled aside as Sully beat him to the spot.

“Move it, Ruffles,” the Knight grinned, setting her own bowl down with a clatter.

“I swear…” Virion muttered, righting himself and straightening his cravat as he moved around to Robin’s other side. “Why do you not just sit next to our most Princely of Princes?”

“‘cause that spot’s taken,” Sully shrugged, already speaking around a mouthful of stew.

Robin glanced up again just in time to see Say’ri tentatively taking her seat next to Chrom, the big man scooting further toward Tharja to make space for the smaller local woman. Which simply caused Tharja to scowl and uncomfortably move further away from him, making Robin wonder just how she could sit on so little seat at the edge of the bench.

“Ah! But of course!” Virion practically crooned. “Please, forgive Virion for not noticing our most priceless of Princesses…”

“Uh… ‘tis of no consequence, Sir Virion,” Say’ri said, clearly nonplussed.

“I ‘aint never heard him talk about Lissa that way,” Sully snorted. “She’s a princess, too, yeah?”

“If I ever hear him talking about my sister that way I’ll make sure Robin moves him to the frontlines,” Chrom said without looking up from his bowl, his tone conversational despite the overt threat.

Suddenly Virion found his dinner very interesting, going quiet and muttering to himself as he spooned the rapidly congealing stew around his bowl. Robin shook his head, dipping a hunk of hard rye bread into his own bowl.

“That wouldn’t make a lot of sense tactically, Chrom,” he said. “First of all, Virion’s a… what did you call us, Sully?”

“A squishy,” the Knight said, the words barely legible through her full mouth.

“Right, right, a ‘squishy’,” Robin nodded, taking a bite of his own dinner before continuing. “No armor, see? Plus, with the bow he’d-”

“Robin,” Chrom interrupted. “I’m the Prince. I make the rules. And I can make you go with him.”

“Well, now that’s just not very tactically sound at all!” Robin huffed, desperately trying to hold back his grin. “I’m better suited to flanking maneuvers and support, not frontline-”

“Robin,” Chrom interrupted again, leaning forward and pointing to himself. “Prince?”

The tactician grew silent for a moment before frowning. “I liked you better before you learned how to abuse your authority.”

Chrom and Sully burst into laughter at this, Virion and Robin chuckling along as well. Tharja turned away to hide a small smirk, the closest she ever got to outright laughter, and even Say’ri, silent until now, managed a few sounds of mirth hidden behind the back of one of her small hands.

“Oh, don’t worry, Robin,” Chrom said as he finally quieted. “I know you’re too important to waste like that.”

“What about Virion?” the tactician asked with a sidelong grin at the archer.

“So long as he stays away from my married sister his field position is your business, not mine,” the Prince shrugged.

“Posh! Please, Prince Chrom, between both you and the most fearsome Lon’qu I fear my efforts to woo the fair princess would be far more hazardous to my health than I can stomach.”

“I think we should tell Lon’qu he thinks that,” Robin snickered.

“Et tu, Robin?” Virion groaned, quickly groping for a change of subject. “Uh… Sully! Sully, why are you eating with us and not your darling little girl this even?”

Sully glanced up, the wooden spoon she had been using dangling from her mouth for a moment before she pulled it away.

“She got first watch tonight,” the Knight shrugged, shooting a pointed glare at Robin.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I just do the duty rosters. Go be mad at Frederick, he does guard rotations.”

Sully grunted something noncommittal around her spoon, and the table descended into near-silence as each of the occupants began to eat. Some with more gusto than others, in the case of Chrom and Sully. Robin watched from the corner of his eye as Say’ri ate slowly, her grip on her spoon strange as she methodically and carefully spooned the stew towards her face, slightly leaning towards the bowl with each bite before sitting back perfectly straight to chew and swallow before repeating the process. It was so different, so refined compared to the way Ylisseans ate, or even Virion who picked like a bird, and Tharja who picked as if afraid the stew would come to life and bite her. Say’ri’s every movement seemed to speak of a deeper respect for her food and for the cook than the others, and it mystified Robin for some reason. Or perhaps he was mystified by the fact he was reading so much into the way that she ate, he told himself.

“So, Say’ri,” Chrom said between mouthfuls. “I’m, ah, sorry if the food isn’t to your taste…”

“No, ‘tis quite palatable,” Say’ri said. As she spoke she gently placed her spoon down on the table, folding her hands in her lap and turning to face the Prince. “Truly, I find foreign foods the saving grace of my exile. Everything is so different and new.”

“Even this slop?” Virion muttered, yelping when Chrom not-so-subtly kicked him under the table.

“You were just so quiet I was worried that you didn’t like the food,” Chrom said.

“Fie, no,” Say’ri smiled. “I fear ‘tis old habits. In Chon’sin women are expected to eat quietly and neatly. Such behavior has been ingrained in me since childhood. ‘Tis a hard habit to break.”

“Are there many warriors such as yourself in Chon’sin?” Chrom asked. “Women, I mean.”

“’Tis… not unheard of,” Say’ri said slowly. “However, it is still a rare occurrence, and never has one of my station become a warrior. What of Ylisse? Is such common in your homeland?”

“Eh, kinda,” Sully shrugged, answering for Chrom. “It’s real common up north in Regna Ferox, and it’s starting to catch on more and more in Ylisse since the Pegasus Knights have become so popular. Ornery beasts won’t let men get near ‘em.”

“Or even women who act like men, apparently,” Chrom muttered, earning snickers from Robin and Virion and a glare from Sully.

“Still rare in Plegia, though, right Tharja?” Sully continued, pointedly ignoring the men at the table.

The Dark Mage glanced up, the scowl set on her features deepening. “Yes,” was all she said.

“Although I am glad for your presence and skills, Princess Say’ri, I regret the necessity of having you here like this,” Chrom said in the lull of Tharja’s monosyllabic answer.

“That’s the most diplomatic I’ve ever heard him sound,” Robin muttered to Sully, earning a kick of his own from the Prince.

“Fie, tis of no concern, Prince Chrom,” Say’ri waved his statement away. “In truth I have long since set aside womanhood to be a warrior, at least until my homeland is freed.”

“Well, that sucks,” Sully huffed. “So, you’re tellin’ me you don’t do, like, girly stuff at all?”

“I have dedicated myself to the path of the sword,” Say’ri said by way of answer.

“Hell, even I get girly every now and then,” Sully said, shaking her head. “All’a us in the Shepherds do.”

“Some more than others, apparently,” Virion mumbled.

Sully reached around Robin’s back, smacking the archer in the back of the head.

“He’s the boss,” the knight said with a vicious grin, nodding towards Chrom. “But you’re not, and you’re in striking range. I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Yes, very lady-like,” Virion said, rolling his eyes theatrically.

Sully just sighed and smacked him again, earning more laughs all around the table.

“Seriously, you’re welcome to join us when the other girls rope me into… whatever,” Sully offered.

“Aye, ‘tis very generous of you,” Say’ri nodded with a wide smile, before growing somber. “But I’m afraid… fie, t’would be… improper for me to… given my station, and without a chaperone… and with so many men present I fear… nay, tis simpler if I remain as a warrior above all else.”

“I mean, we won’t force you,” Sully said quickly. “Offer’s there is all.”

“And I greatly appreciate it, Lady Sully,” Say’ri said, nodding again. “But ‘tis merely easier this way. ‘Tis better this way.”

An awkward silence descended for a moment before Virion theatrically sighed.

“Oh, alack, that such tender beauty must rob herself of the simple virtues of maidenhood in the name of this cruel war!” he declared. “My friends and comrades, we must all fight doubly as hard, so that we might win the most priceless of princesses her freedom once more!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said,” Chrom admitted.

“Welcome to my world,” Tharja drawled, glaring at the archer.

* * *

The next day the Shepherds moved for the Mila Tree, sacred home of Naga’s Voice, and also current location of a large garrison of Imperial Valmese soldiers. The tree itself was gargantuan, its boughs casting long, deep shadows on the rocks and house-sized roots beneath. In fact, the root system of the Mila Tree was so immense that the Valmese had actually constructed their base atop the roots themselves, using them as natural ramps and barriers. The shrine was, apparently, atop the massive tree. Unfortunately, they were too distracted to enjoy the natural, ephemeral beauty of the place. The Valmese general was clearly no fool, for Robin had only been able to identify three avenues of attack, and only one large enough for the horses to use safely.

Robin’s plans for the assault had been simple; a heavy central thrust and two smaller flanking prongs on the smaller roots. Of course, Chrom had demanded to lead the central thrust, meaning Lucina would be there as well. The knights and armored soldiers, and Vaike, unarmored as ever, were going with them, as well as Lissa and Miriel as support. The first flanking force was being led by Cordelia, and consisted of the two manaketes Nowi and Nah, as well as Cynthia, Sumia and Cherche with Maribelle as support. Leaving Robin to lead the second flanking team with Severa, Virion, Tharja and Libra for support. Everyone else was either in reserve with the Khans, Flavia and Basilio, or was being fielded with Chrom’s team.

At the last minute he had added Say’ri to his own team, reasoning that she was still new to the paired fighting style of the Shepherds, and he was the only one she had actually trained with.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this formation?” Robin asked softly as they watched the field, waiting for Chrom to engage.

“Fie but you worry,” Say’ri smirked. “Have I not already confirmed my willingness? I will ‘watch your back’. That is what you Ylisseans call it, yes?”

“I’m just not used to…” Robin started to say, before stopping and breaking into a grin of his own. “Actually, I’m not sure why I’m not used to ordering royalty around. I boss Chrom and Lissa around all the time. Maybe it’s because they don’t act like royalty?”

“I am but another warrior on the field, Sir Robin,” Say’ri assured him. “I ask that you forget my bloodline and use me as you see fit.”

“Right, okay,” the tactician nodded. “Well then, you stay behind me and act as support. Since I’ve got armor, I’ll catch the enemy’s attention and you strike. Just like the greater plan, but on a smaller scale.”

As Robin explained he rapped the back of his knuckles on the silver breastplate he wore beneath his coat, doing his best to appear confident.

“And when he inevitably gets hurt just hide behind us,” Severa huffed. “You men are all the same… If you’re just about done trying to impress the new girl we have a battle to fight.”

Robin actually stumbled, doing his best not to fall over.

“I wasn’t trying to impress anyone!” he snapped, blushing furiously. “I’m going over the plan.”

“Yup. Sure you were,” Severa said, rolling her eyes and knocking Robin’s breastplate with her own knuckles. “Hear that, Ruffles? We just gotta stay behind him.”

“I was planning to stay behind you both, honestly,” Virion shrugged. “I am the archest of archers, not the most merciless of mercenaries.”

“Was that some sort of crack out me being bitchy!?” Severa practically snarled, whirling on the archer.

“But of course not, my dear!” Virion said smoothly. “I would never think of disparaging your honor so! Your abundant charms are plain for all to see!”

Severa clicked her tongue in annoyance as she turned away, shaking her head and muttering about ‘all men being pigs’ as she stomped away. Tharja gave the girl a sympathetic glance before going back to glaring at Virion, being very familiar with the redhead’s grievances, while Libra continued to watch the battlefield with a small grin on his face. To Robin’s surprise Say’ri actually let out a musical laugh, covering her smile with the back of one hand.

“Tis refreshing to see a band of warriors as close as the Shepherds,” she said, moving her hand back to the hilt of her sword.

Before Robin could respond Libra spoke, instantly gaining everyone’s attention.

“Prince Chrom’s force has engaged,” the war monk said.

“Okay, places, people,” Robin said, slipping into his work-mindset. “Severa, Libra, left side. Say’ri, you and I will take the right. Virion, Tharja, funnel them towards us.”

Tharja let out a dangerous sounding chuckle, actually making Virion flinch away from her as she began to cast her magic spells. Without further words Robin vaulted the large root they had been using as cover, moving towards the Valmese soldiers at a slow trot. To his left he could see Libra and Severa doing the same in his peripheral vision. Say’ri was just a few steps behind him, her long local sword bared and ready. The shorter sword she carried was still sheathed at her waist, no doubt a backup weapon. Robin had his own rapier out, suddenly acutely aware of how long it had been since he’d charged into battle in the front rank.

The small team tore through the first of the Valmese soldiers with ease, the rearguard being totally focused on Chrom’s central thrust. The two pairs moved swiftly towards the Valmese flank, Virion and Tharja hurrying to keep pace and make range for their part of the assault. Across the field Robin could see Cordelia’s team already moving into position, the crimson-haired woman giving a piercing battle-cry as she spurred her mount towards the enemy. Already under attack, the majority of the Valmese soldiers hadn’t noticed the flanking forces until Cordelia’s team was striking at them, dividing their attention further.

Satisfied at this opening Robin picked up his pace, giving a war-cry of his own as they neared the Valmese troops. He wasn’t surprised to hear Severa or even the usually-dour Libra joining him, but he was mildly interested when Say’ri shouted an oath in her native tongue at his back just before the hit the enemy.

And then there was no more time for thoughts of anything else as Robin lost himself to the melee.

* * *

“Marry, but what fighting!” Say’ri declared. “I almost pity the enemies of Ylisse!”

“Trust me, it doesn’t usually go this well,” Robin chuckled self-depreciatingly. “Usually there’s a lot more screaming and instances of my plans going… awry.”

The two conversed as they picked their way through the battlefield now the fighting was done, moving to where Chrom and a few of the others had gathered at the base of a great staircase ringing the trunk of the Mila Tree. The majority of the Shepherds were busy with Basilio and Flavia, repurposing the Valmese camp into a forward outpost for the Ylissean League.

“Coming from the League’s tactician, that is not a comforting thought,” Say’ri said playfully.

“Trust me, it’s better than the plans Chrom used to come up with,” Robin grumbled. “’Hey, we’re vastly outnumbered and surrounded, but let’s charge right in anyway!’ Gods, how he survived before I came along is-”

Robin’s complaining was cut short when he failed to notice the discarded axe lying across his path, its wooden haft catching his foot and sending him falling on his face with a yelp. He grunted, ignoring Say’ri’s failed attempts to stifle her laughter.

“Well, that was embarrassing. And bad for morale,” he groaned, pushing himself up. “Please tell me no one saw that.”

“Oh, we all saw it.”

Glancing up, Robin saw Chrom and a hysterically-laughing Lissa standing near Say’ri. The local woman’s face had gone red in her attempts to stifle her laughter, Lissa almost falling over as she made no attempt to do the same. In the distance Robin could see some of the more verbose Shepherds doing much the same. With a sigh the tactician let himself fall back down on his face, speaking into the massive tree root they were standing on.

“Okay then. I’ll just lay here and wait to die. If you could all walk around me so I don’t suffer I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice muffled.

This proved to be too much for Chrom, who burst into a fit of laughter himself, redoubling Lissa’s own laughter as well. Even Say’ri gave a snort before she forced her face back to a careful neutral, tears in the corners of her eyes from the trapped laughter as she offered him her hand.

“H-here,” she said simply.

Robin glanced up at the appendage before slowly taking it and allowing himself to be pulled up. He dusted himself off, casting a withering glare at the two royal siblings and the others in the distance before speaking.

“So, what’s next?” he asked.

“Walking lessons?” Lissa gasped, her hysterics finally dying to a chuckle.

Beside her Chrom wiped a tear from his eye, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. Glancing up Robin noticed Lucina was approaching, and he silently gave thanks that she was level-headed enough to move things along. The time-travelling princess quirked her head a little, giving the other two royals a strange look.

“Er… Father, we’re ready to move on the shrine,” she said. “We’ve spotted no Valmese soldiers on the staircase or in fly-overs. Uh… what was so funny?”

“Me making an arse of myself,” Robin grumbled irritably. “Can we just fly up?”

“Prithee, no,” Say’ri said, stepping forward and clearing her throat. “The Mila Tree is sacred ground. We must make the pilgrimage up the stairs, as is proper, or Naga’s Voice will not heed us.”

“Ugh. Stairs,” Robin groaned, his shoulders sagging. “Someone had better stay between me and the outside. There’s no rail, and I’m not liking my track record today.”

This proved to be too much for both Chrom and Lissa, the pair bursting into laughter again as a confused Lucina watched. Say’ri’s shoulders shook, and she held a hand to her mouth as she turned away and took a few steps clear to compose herself. The tactician merely shook his head, shooting Lucina a helpless look.

* * *

The wind was strong atop the Mila tree as Robin emerged atop it, buffeting at his hair and coat as he stumbled onto a platform made of interlocked branches. It was like coming out into a field atop the world, and Robin was instantly struck by the surreal beauty of the place. The sun shone merrily down atop the tree, small birds darting to and fro in the open air. Leaves gave the illusion of grass, and water pooled in a small lake, a hundred meters above ground, in a small depression. Branches of the Mila Tree rose up around the periphery of the platform, like a natural railing around the safe area. A stone temple stood in the exact center of the tree, a simple building that was more of a gazebo than an actual temple. Another gust of wind from behind him forced Robin forward a few steps, his aching legs protesting and causing him to nearly fall again. Despite the cooling wind he was still soaked with sweat from the climb, brushing back his sweat-slick hair from his face as he moved to make way for the others.

“Is anybody dead yet?” he called back, his voice hoarse.

“Yes!” Lissa called weakly.

“I thought I… was fitter… than this…” came Lucina’s panting voice.

“Gods above, I’m… too old for this…”

“Keep moving, oaf. You’re in front of me. You fall, I die, too.”

Robin smirked, watching the others slowly made their way onto the platform. They had been met at the base of the staircase by the two Khans, both claiming to want to be the first to meet Naga’s Voice. Chrom had rolled his eyes but relented in bringing them along, seeing that Frederick had already taken charge of the camp preparations.

It wasn’t like either Chrom or Robin could tell Basilio and Flavia ‘no’, anyway. Neither were Shepherds, and Flavia herself was at least on par with Chrom in authority.

Say’ri was first, coming up after Robin with far more dignity than the rest were moving. She brushed a few sweat-damp strands of hair from her own face as she was hit by the wind, moving to stand near Robin. Rather than watch the spectacle of the others arriving, though, she looked out over the platform, her gaze clearly searching for the Voice. Lucina and Chrom were next, the Prince half-carrying Lissa as she sagged on her feet. As soon as they were at the top Chrom released his sister, the blonde girl flopping down on the branches and leaves. Basilio came next, falling like a felled tree next to the slight Ylissean Princess and letting out a relieved groan as Flavia stepped over the older man.

“I’m done!” Lissa declared. “How many stairs was that? I’m so sick of stupid stairs! I’m just going to live up here now!”

“I’ll tell… Lon’qu… that for… you,” Basilio panted, rolling onto his back.

“The Voice truly lives all the way up here?” Lucina asked.

As she spoke Lucina stood up straight, smoothing her tunic and adjusting her weapon belts as she forced her breathing to slow. Beside her Chrom did the same, while Flavia drained the waterskin on her belt as she approached Robin and Say’ri. Once she got closer Robin caught a whiff of what was really in the waterskin and rolled his eyes at the typical Feroxi behavior, the scent of wine already lost on the wind.

“Nice place,” Flavia said.

As she spoke the Khan offered the waterskin to both Robin and Say’ri. Robin refused with a shake of his head and a muttered “no thanks,” and he was silently relieved when Say’ri did the same.

“Tis a place of great beauty and serenity,” Say’ri agreed, a soft smile rising on her face. “I have not been here since I was a child.”

Flavia grunted and nodded, glancing over her shoulder and clicking her tongue in annoyance.

“Hey, oaf! Better get up before moss starts growing on you!”

Basilio made a few vaguely threatening sounds as he waved a rude hand gesture in her direction, already pushing himself back to his feet. Once he was up he grabbed Lissa by the scruff and placed her back on her feet, too.

Robin couldn’t help but grin every time he noticed how close the big old Khan was to his Champion’s wife, like an over-protective father-in-law. It was cute, in a way, but he would never be brave enough to say it to the older man’s face.

Say’ri stepped forward, approaching the temple and cupping her hands to her mouth. “Lady Tiki! Are you here? Prithee answer!”

Robin and Chrom exchanged a curious glance, the Prince shrugging and moving to follow the Chon’sinian princess with Lucina at his heel. With a small grunt of effort Robin forced his aching legs to join them, ignoring the tired muscles’ protests as he shuffled along behind the trio.

Once they got closer Robin could make out an irregular shaped altar at the center of the temple, as if someone had carved the likeness of a sleeping woman atop the stone slab. Or so he thought, until the carving gave a great yawn and sat up, stretching her arms above her head and blinking wearily as she watched the people approaching her.

Say’ri stepped forward, almost skipping as she entered the shade of the temple.

“Ah, my lady... I'm so relieved to see you're all right,” she said.

“So you are Lady Tiki? She who speaks for the divine dragon?” Lucina asked, brushing past Robin to stand at Say’ri’s side.

The woman, Tiki, apparently, glanced up at Lucina with an uncomprehending look before a tired smile spread across her features.

“Marth?” Tiki asked, her tired voice almost a mumble. “Oh, Mar-Mar, is that you?!”

Lucina took an involuntary step back as the woman rose from the altar, looking between Robin and Say’ri for help. When none was forthcoming she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“My name is Lucina, milady,” she corrected hesitantly, before adding, “though I did go by the name Marth for a time. Might we have met?”

Tiki seemed to pout for a moment before yawning again and rubbing at her eyes with the back of one hand.

“Alas, no. I'm sorry... You reminded me of someone I knew,” she said with a small, sad smile. “But he is gone now. Lost during my endless sleep...”

Once again this brought Lucina up short, her mouth working soundlessly as she struggled to find a way to respond. While the princess gaped like a fish Tiki glanced around her, as if noticing Chrom for the first time, and gave a thoughtful sound.

“You and your father are of the exalted bloodline, are you not?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, milady,” Chrom nodded, stepping forward.

“How did she know they were related?” Robin whispered to Say’ri.

“Hush,” was all the answer he got.

While they spoke Lissa and the Khans approached cautiously, wary of overwhelming the woman. Tiki smiled brightly at them before turning back to Chrom.

“Do you yet possess the Fire Emblem?” she asked airily. “It should have been passed down through your family...”

“I... Yes, I have it...” Chrom answered, displaying the golden shield on his arm.

“Ah! What relief to know it has not been lost,” Tiki clapped smiling radiantly as she beheld the shield. She quirked her head, though, her expression turning to confusion. “But where are the Gemstones? I see only Argent.”

“Gemstones?” Chrom repeated.

Tiki cleared her throat before smiling again. “Yes, there are five of them—Argent, Sable, Gules, Azure, and Vert. Each holds a portion of Naga's power. When mounted upon the Emblem, they allow one to perform the Awakening, the rite by which the first exalt channeled the divine dragon's power. With the Fire Emblem's power, the exalt was able to defeat Grima. But such power was too much for men, and so the Gemstones were scattered. I kept Azure here with me.”

“My kingdom had safeguarded Vert for generations,” Say’ri added apologetically. “But the gem was recently stolen by Walhart's men.”

“We can deal with that,” Robin promised.

“Indeed,” Lucina agreed, turning to Tiki. “Milady, do you know where the other two Gemstones might be?”

“The remaining Gemstones, Sable and Gules, are no longer known to me,” Tiki said plainly. “They may have been taken long ago, at the time of the Schism.”

“Regna Ferox was founded during the Schism,” Basilio spoke up. “As were most all nations in the realm, I believe.”

“Wait—does that mean you guys have one of the Gemstones, Basilio?” Lissa asked, looking up at the older man.

Before he could answer Flavia barked a harsh laugh, running a hand through her messy hair. “Ha! Sorry squirt, as if anyone would entrust the oaf with such an important thing!”

“Actually, it's true—we did keep one: Gules,” Basilio corrected her, a wicked smirk on his face. “Did I not tell you?”

Flavia’s grin disappeared immediately, a scowl settling in on her face. “You most certainly did not.”

“Hmm... Must have slipped my mind,” Basilio shrugged. “Whoops. Regardless, yes. The West-Khans once safeguarded Gules. But it was lost long before my lifetime.”

Tiki listened along silently, but perked up with a barely perceptible ‘oh!’ and dashed back to her altar. She bent over it, lying back atop it with her legs flailing in the air for a moment while everyone watched in confused silence before she reappeared, smiling triumphantly. She held her cupped hands out to Chrom, in which a small blue gemstone rested.

“Here. Take Azure, exalted ones. With it, you possess two of the five Gemstones. Now you must seek out the others and perform the Awakening. Our world must be defended from Grima at all costs!”

“I thought Grima's power was sealed away,” Chrom said, gingerly taking the stone in one of his larger hands.

“Yes, but ever since, there have been those who would change that,” Tiki said sadly. “Grima's life force grows even now, and with it, the long shadows of despair.”

Lucina shifted uncomfortably, and Robin put a steadying hand on her shoulder for a moment.

“This task is a heavy burden, but as he of exalted blood, it must fall to you, Chrom,” Tiki added a moment later.

Chrom nodded, holding himself up proudly. “I understand. Thank you, for all your help.”

With deft movements the Prince slotted azure into the Shield of Seals. After a moment nothing happened, and Chrom gingerly tilted the shield to make sure the gem was secure. Azure didn’t so much as budge.

“Well, that was anti-climactic,” Basilio chuckled.

“That’s a good thing, Basilio; I for one am sick of things exploding,” Robin sighed.

“Well, you’re just wrong,” the older man huffed, crossing his arms.

Robin rolled his eyes, ignoring Basilio and facing Tiki. “We owe you a great debt, milady.”

The Voice perked up again, clasping her hands at her breast and looking intently at Robin. “Ah! You... You have it...”

“What? What do I have?” Robin asked, looking down at his coat.

“You have power... like mine.”

“I do?” Robin asked incredulously.

“He does?” Lucina asked at the same time.

“Well, I have seen him sleep on solid stone before, too,” Chrom pointed out with a poorly-concealed grin.

“No, not… I... Ah... Forgive me... I am still groggy from my slumber,” Tiki said, pausing to yawn. “My words outpace my thoughts. I apologize.”

“No, it’s fine,” Robin assured her.

Say’ri stepped forward as Tiki leaned back against the altar she had been sleeping on, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

“Are you all right, my lady?” she asked tentatively.

“I am fine... Just very tired...” Tiki said, yawning again. “I have awoken prematurely and haven't the strength to join you in the fray. Not yet. But I will call the people together, in prayer, for an end to this conflict.”

“Any help you can provide us will be appreciated, Lady Voice,” Chrom said, smiling regally.

“So you’re coming with us?” Robin asked.

“Is that okay?” Tiki responded.

“Sure, but we’re kind of roughing it,” the tactician shrugged. “Tents, bed rolls, camp food… Probably not the kind of stuff Naga’s Voice is used to.”

“That sounds delightful!” Tiki laughed, perking up again. “It will be just like when Mar-Mar marched against Dolhr! And please, just call me Tiki.”

“Very well, Lady Tiki,” Chrom nodded. “We welcome you to our ranks.”

Tiki’s smile alone could have illuminated the entire clearing. She pushed off the altar, nodding and allowing Chrom to lead her back towards the stairs.

“Then, pray allow me to offer you my lodgings, Lady Tiki,” Say’ri offered, following them.

“You want to share your tent? That sounds marvelous!” Tiki laughed. “I haven’t had human friends in centuries!”

Robin watched them go, a smile on his face as Tiki and Say’ri conversed. He crossed his arms, leaning against one of the posts that held the temple’s simple roof up, admiring the way that Say’ri was so selflessly quick to offer her own space to Tiki…

He grunted, a large, meaty hand slapping him on the shoulder.

“Come on, lover-boy,” Basilio rumbled, a wide smile splitting his face. “Faster we get down the stairs the better.”

Robin spluttered as the two Khans passed him, laughing raucously and leaving him alone with Lissa. She looked plaintively at the top of the staircase before letting out a little whine and falling to her knees.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Robin muttered.

**_Finished 2018, to be continued in the next chapter_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2019: I don’t know why I haven’t done anything with this sooner. It’s the very first FE commission I did, for the lovely young lady that’s been translating bits and pieces of Invisible Ties into Chinese on fanfiction.net. I’m working on a second part of this chapter at present around the Patreon work I’m doing, so hopefully it’ll be done sometime next month and I can move on to some of the other short story ideas I’ve been sitting on. There’s… about twenty of them. Heh.


	6. Three Houses - The Best of Teachers

Edelgard took a deep, calming breath as she stood before the full length mirror in her second-floor dorm room. Her long white hair was brushed perfectly straight, her black uniform immaculate, her short red cape denoting her as the head of the Black Eagles house draped loosely over one shoulder just right.

She nodded, a rare genuine smile crossing her face. This was it. She was ready for her first day.

Gathering up her books and quills she took another deep breath, another moment to compose herself, and made for the door.

She wasn’t nervous; not really. But as the heir of the Von Hresvelg line, and heir apparent to the Empire itself, she needed to appear calm and in control at all times.

No one would follow a nervous wreck of an Emperor, after all.

She stepped out of her room to find her second shadow, her attendant and guard Hubert, waiting attentively as always. As soon as he spotted her the tall, whipcord-thin young man swept his arm across his chest and bowed low from the waist in a textbook show of loyalty and obedience for a retainer.

“Good morning, Lady Edelgard,” he said, his oddly mellifluous voice utterly at odds with his sinister appearance. “I trust you slept well.”

“Of course, Hubert,” Edelgard answered as she brushed by him. “It wouldn’t do for me to have bags under my eyes on our new professor’s first day.”

Hubert fell in exactly two steps behind her as they headed for the stairs, as he always did.

“Indeed, you look as lovely as ever, my lady,” he said with upmost sincerity.

Edelgard nodded graciously at the compliment, descending the stairs and taking a brief moment of serenity to allow the morning sunlight and spring breeze to play over her face as she and Hubert reached the small courtyard outside the student dormitories.

Of course, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, just as Hubert always greeted her outside her door every day...

“Ah, good morning, Edelgard! As slow to rise as ever, I see!”

Edelgard sighed as she brushed a few stray strands of hair knocked free by the pleasant breeze back behind her ear into their proper place, her pleasant mood abating somewhat. If this hadn’t been as regular an occurrence as Hubert’s morning greetings she would perhaps have been riled. However, her self-professed rival’s behaviour  was just as predictable as her retainer’s.

“Ferdinand. Good morning,” she greeted coolly.

“Tsk tsk, Edelgard,” the flame-haired youth almost laughed. “You need to be more punctual than that if you are to best me!”

Edelgard could almost feel Hubert clenching up behind her in irritation on her behalf, but he remained silent. She bit back the frustrated sigh threatening to

“Ferdinand, class doesn’t start for at least another fifteen minutes,” she said. 

“Shouldn’t our leader be there before any others, though?” Ferdinand insisted, much to Edelgard’s further frustration. “Most of all, before her rival?”

“You’re not my rival, Ferdinand,” Edelgard ground out, losing her patience now and stepping past him. “And even if you get there first, you will still enter the room after I do, like a proper nobleman for their Crown Princess. Won’t you?”

Edelgard had to fight to keep her face straight at the frown that rose to her self-professed rival’s face as she verbally vested him again. She even patiently ignored the way that Hubert silently glared at the Aegir scion as he followed behind her. Fortunately, Ferdinand chose to head to the classroom through the cafeteria as opposed to following Edelgard north, in the direction of the training field. Perhaps even more fortunately, the other House Heads, Dimitri And Claude, were nowhere to be seen, either. After having to remind Ferdinand of his place Edelgard doubted that her good mood would have lasted through Claude’s incessant wheedling or Dimitri’s...

A small frown rose to her otherwise serene face, the expression little more than the twitch of the corners of her lips downwards, at the thought of the blonde Kingdom Prince.

“My lady, is something amiss?” Hubert asked, ever attentive to her shifting moods. “Perhaps I should remind Ferdinand of his and his family’s position in the Empire?”

“No, Hubert,” Edelgard said, quickening her pace ever so slightly. “Ferdinand’s delusions do not trouble me any more than a passing wind. Pay me no mind.”

Hubert nodded and continued silently following, and soon they approached the Black Eagles’ classroom. It was the northernmost of the three classrooms, closest to the training ground and furthest from the cafeteria. Which was no doubt why Ferdinand was doubled over, drenched in sweat and panting as he waited with the rest of the students.

“Really, Ferdinand,” Edelgard actually sighed this time.

“I still... beat you,” he panted without looking up.

“You keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Caspar said, the slight youth slapping him on the back. “Small victories, right?”

“Boys...” Dorothea muttered disdainfully, the elegant songstress shaking her head.

“I am... not understanding,” Petra said, the exotic younger girl looking back and forth between them. “Have I missing training?”

“No, Petra, sweetie, just pay them no mind,” Dorothea advised. “Ferdinand’s just being his usual silly self.”

“I! I am... the son... of Duke Aegir!” Ferdinand gasped. “I am... better... than... ugh...”

“Man, stop before you throw up,” Caspar laughed.

Behind the group a willowy, pale girl with frumpy hair did her best to hide behind a book and look as unnoticeable as possible; if not for the fact Bernadetta was holding said book upside down, perhaps she would have been.

As Edelgard watched them another thin young man shuffled past her and Hubert, not even bothering to disguise his wide yawn. Linhardt gave her the barest nod of greeting, his mouth still open wide mid-yawn, as he passed.

“Hey, we’re all here now!” Caspar said excitedly. “Morning, Linhardt! Usually we don’t see you ‘til second period, at least!”

“Alright, everyone,” Edelgard announced. “Let’s put our best foot forward for our new professor and head inside so we are ready when she gets here.”

Petra slowly raised her hand. “How am I... knowing which is my best foot? Are you meaning my lead foot?”

“No, Petra, it’s a figure of speech,” Edelgard explained with a patient smile. “Let’s just all go in.”

Hubert rushed forward, bowing his head as he held the door to the classroom open for her. Edelgard nodded her thanks and stepped through, into the dimly lit classroom. Hubert would go around lighting the candles, already a step behind her again second into the room as-

A shadow detached itself from the wall, flying at Edelgard and Hubert's flank as they stepped into the room. Hubert gave an indignant squawk as his leg was kicked out from underneath him, the sound cutting off as a knee was driven into his face. Edelgard froze as the kiss of cold steel touched the side of her neck, her mind struggling to catch up with what was happening as Hubert hit the floor. Afraid to so much as move, Edelgard strained to see her assailant out of the corner of her eye, thinking she could at least put herself between them and the other students while they made a break for it…

"Rookie mistake. Always check the corners. That's your first lesson."

"Professor?" Edelgard breathed, not daring to move.

Byleth made a small snorting sound, her expression never changing as she stepped back and returned her dagger to the sheath on her belt.

"You're dead. So is Hubert," she said.

Still on the floor, Hubert made a sound somewhere between a furious growl and a pathetic moan. Frozen halfway through the door, the other students watched in wide eyed terror.

"Are you out of your mind!?" Edelgard shouted, all thoughts of propriety gone as she whirled on her teacher.

Byleth looked at her, the older woman quirking her head to one side slightly, her neutral expression never changing as she blinked.

"No. I'm teaching," she explained.

"I think your 'teaching' made Bernadetta faint!" Caspar called from the back of the students.

Byleth made a thoughtful sound at the back of her throat.

"Well, bring her in and prop her up in her seat. We don't want her to miss class. Someone heal Hubert's nose, then everyone take your seats."

The man in question, now up on his knees, made another angry sound around his bloodied nose as the students began shuffling around him, Caspar manhandling a rigid, catatonic Bernadetta with him. Linhardt stopped at Hubert's side, and Edelgard turned back to their teacher. Her face, arms and exposed midriff were all colored grey and…

"Professor. What's on your face?" she asked.

"Camouflage," Byleth explained, running a finger down her cheek. "Soot from the fireplace. To help me blend in. Stop dawdling, take your seat."

Edelgard watched with a slack expression as their filthy teacher took her place at the podium at the front of the class, not even bothering to clean up after having just assaulted her and Hubert as a 'lesson', at an utter loss.

* * *

The classroom door creaked open slowly, Edelgard glancing left and right as she stepped cautiously into the room. Behind her, Hubert did the same, his hands at his sides already crackling with magic, ready to defend his liege.

When nothing jumped out of the shadows at them, Edelgard let out a relieved breath, turning to the other students still lingering outside with a small huff. They were all cowering behind Caspar and Ferdinand, except for Bernadetta who had opted to skip today's lectures, the two boys in front tense and ready to bolt. When the group saw Edelgard relax, though, there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Alright, everyone, it's safe," she said. "Come inside, get the candles lit and-"

"DEATH FROM ABOVE!"

Edelgard screamed as a black-clad shape dropped from the ceiling directly atop Hubert, the mage-in-training crumpling with a strangled gasp as Byleth landed atop him.

"Dead," the teacher declared.

Then, in one movement, she spun and before the young noble could react had her dagger pressed to Edelgard's throat again, the teacher's expression still uncannily blank.

"Dead," Byleth declared softly, before raising her voice again. "Today's first lesson? People rarely look up."

Spluttering again in indignation, Edelgard watched as Byleth stepped back from her, sheathing her dagger again with complete nonchalance. The ex-mercenary glanced down at the unconscious Hubert, nudging him a few times with the toe of her boot. When he didn't respond, Byleth gave another of her thoughtful hums.

"Lindhart, if you would?" she said, her tone never changing. "Everyone else, to your seats."

* * *

"… so the cart, loaded up with all the fertilizer and lamp oil that the merchants had been hauling, rolled into the enemy's formation. Then we detonated it with a flaming arrow, sowing discord. After that it was a cinch to mop up the stragglers."

Edelgard watched in fascinated horror as Petra, the youngest and arguably most impressionable of the class, hurriedly jotted down notes on the Professor's macabre anecdote. The class was on 'unconventional tactics', a subject that Byleth seemed to excel at. Around her, the rest of the students made notes or watched in similar states as herself (except for Bernadetta, who was once again absent). All aside from Linhardt, who let out a small snore at the back of the classroom, his head resting on his desk.

Byleth paused from sketching the diagram on the formations she was talking about on the slate blackboard, her eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as she spotted Lindhart asleep at the back of the class. With fluid, graceful movements she was across the room in seconds, every set of eyes following her as the class collectively held their breath. Dorothea covered her mouth in shock. Petra watched with wide-eyed wonder. Caspar and Ferdinand both wore wide grins.

The teacher stopped, looming over the defenceless Linhardt for a second before, with one quick, fluid movement, she drew her dagger and slammed the blade into the desk less than an inch from Linhardt's face. The student jumped, his eyes flying open, then widening again as he spotted the dagger buried on the desk in front of his face. Very slowly, he turned his head until he was looking up at their teacher, her fist still wrapped around the hilt of her dagger.

"You're dead," she said. "Are my lessons on how to not get dead boring you, Lindhart?"

"N-no, Professor," the young man stammered, paling.

"Then I suggest you try to get some more sleep at night," Byleth said, the corners of her mouth shifting upwards very slightly in her approximation of a dangerous grin.

The teacher turned before Linhardt could reply, leaving her dagger stuck in his desk as a reminder. Everyone turned to watch their professor's progress back to the front of the room, all facing forward again as she resumed her position at the front of the classroom. At the back of the room Linhardt sat up perfectly straight, facing forward, his eyes wide as he struggled not to stare at the knife still embedded in his desk.

"Excellent. Now," Byleth said, her usually-toneless voice practically pleasant. "Where was I?"

* * *

Edelgard looked at the door to their classroom, an intense feeling of dread washing over her as she swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering what kind of insanity Byleth had in store for them today.

This time Bernadetta and Linhardt were both absent, although Petra was practically bouncing in excitement to get inside. Beside her, Hubert glowered at the door as well, absently rubbing at the bruise on his forehead.

"How much longer are you going to stare at the door, Edelgard?" Ferdinand asked.

"I am not staring," she snapped. "I am… mentally preparing myself."

"Ha! While, I, a proud son of House Aegir, am fully prepared for whatever our Professor may throw at us today!" he declared, stepping forward. "If you lack the courage to simply open a door, then allow me!"

The flame-haired young man stepped forward, throwing the double-doors wide and striding boldly into the classroom.

"Good morning, Professor!" Ferdinand called. "I hope you-WAUGH!"

Almost faster than Edelgard could follow, Ferdinand flipped upside down and shot into the air, yanked up by the snare around his ankle as Byleth dropped from the rafters again, using her own body as a counter weight. A blunted throwing knife flew from her outstretched hand before she even hit the ground, Hubert yelping and falling on his rear as it hit him right between the eyes. Ferdinand gave another scream as he was suddenly dropped, landing heavily on his head, and, once more, Edelgard found the teacher's dagger pressed to her throat.

"Dead. Dead. And dead," Byleth declared impassively. "Today's lesson? Expect the unexpected. Where's Linhardt?"

"Absent today," Caspar said, visibly struggling to contain his laughter.

"Then I guess you'll just have to live with your bruises," Byleth shrugged, lowering her dagger.

As the teacher turned away Edelgard actually heard Hubert growling under his breath as he pulled himself to his feet. It was an odd contrast to the small sound of absolute glee that Petra made as she almost skipped past where Ferdinand was still picking himself up off the ground, the young Brigid girl taking a seat front row centre.

"I think I am going to be sick," Ferdinand groaned from the ground.

"I think you have a concussion," Caspar chuckled.

* * *

"I really don't see why I had to come to class today…" Bernadetta whined quietly.

"Because you haven't been to class in a week," Edelgard sighed.

"B-but… what… what if the teacher tries to kill us all again!?" Bernadetta went on.

The Black Eagles class stood arrayed before the door to their classroom like every morning. It was a Monday, a new week, and a new opportunity to make something… 'normal' out of their classes.

Byleth had spent all weekend running around the Monastery, organising their free periods with choir practise and allegedly holding a, from what Edelgard had heard, surprisingly enjoyable tea party with members of the other Houses in one of the gardens. This was all in between the time that the strange former mercenary had spent returning lost items to their owners, running errands all over the Monastery for anyone who asked, and catching enough fish to feed an army.

Edelgard hated to think of her teacher in such a negative way, but 'strange' was the only word that came to mind when considering Byleth. She could tell that the oddly endearing former mercenary meant well, but traumatizing her students was going a little far…

At the door, the others were holding a last minute strategy meeting, Ferdinand leading them. Unlike last week, though, Caspar and Ferdinand were both holding their wooden training swords, and Dorothea reluctantly clutched a small wooden shield in one hand. A grinning Petra also carried her bow, a fistful of training arrows clutched to her side.

"Alright, Caspar and I will go first," the redhead declared. "Caspar? Take left. I'll take right. Dorothea, you go down the middle with Petra, spell primed and ready to go. Linhardt? Look up. Yell if you see her. Everyone clear?"

"Why do I have to be part of this?" Linhardt asked slowly.

"Because Edelgard and Hubert won't follow my orders, and Bernadetta's likely to freeze up," Ferdinand explained.

"Let's just get this over with," Dorothea sighed.

"C'mon, let's do this!" Caspar said excitedly. "We got this! This time, we'll get the drop on her!"

"Not if you be shouting the plan," Petra huffed. "Quietness, please, Caspar!"

"Right! Sorry!" the wiry noble whispered.

"This is a bad idea," Bernadetta moaned softly behind Edelgard.

The Princess sighed and shook her head. She wasn't frustrated by the behaviour of her fellow students; on the contrary, she was frustrated by the necessity of it. Still, she, Hubert and Bernadetta came forward, crowding in at the rear of the small formation.

"Okay, on three," Ferdinand declared. "And remember! Watch your footing! Alright… one… two… THREE!"

The doors flew wide, Ferdinand and Caspar rolling into the room and coming up low behind the back row of desks, using the closest pillars as cover. Dorothea, despite her earlier reluctance, came forward, shield up and spell ready in her off hand, Petra at her shoulder scoping out the room from behind a ready arrow. Linhardt shuffled slowly into the room, tentatively looking up at the rafters.

"Clear!" he called.

"Clear!" Caspar said, sounding almost disappointed.

"Clear!" Ferdinand reported. "Girls?"

"I am seeing not our teacher," Petra pouted, lowering her bow.

"Clear," Dorothea agreed, lowering her shield.

Edelgard nodded, striding into the room with Hubert in tow. Bernadetta followed more cautiously, the timid girl's eyes darting every direction around the room.

"Well, I hope you are all satisfied," Edelgard said. "Now, let's take our seats and be ready for-"

Edelgard flinched, and Hubert actually jumped and screamed as someone started clapping directly behind them.

"Very good," Byleth said, clapping her hands. "You cleared this room like pros, and it only took a week. I'm impressed."

"Professor!" Edelgard said, spinning. "How long were you back there!?"

"Since Ferdinand outlined the plan," the teacher shrugged impassively.

"How did we not see you!?" Ferdinand asked, shock evident on his face.

"I didn't want you to," Byleth said, shrugging again. "Alright, everyone to your seats."

Edelgard took a deep, calming breath as she composed herself, turning slightly to see Bernadetta frozen rigid, her head slightly back, her mouth open and her eyes wide and unseeing.

"By the goddess, not again…" Hubert groaned.

"Teacher, I believe Bernadetta fainted again," Edelgard called with a sigh.

At the podium Byleth made a small hum of contemplation, before the older woman nodded.

"Well, prop her up at her desk, and we'll start the lesson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself. I am weak. I had to do it. I didn't want to. I had to. Will this become a long-running story? No, probably not. But, for now, please enjoy.  
> I have a second chapter planned, which I can hopefully get up in the next week or so, but I am absolutely swamped this month, so... yeah. We'll just play it by ear, and see what happens.  
> Follow me on twitter! -@metalloverCAB  
> Please consider supporting me on Patreon! For just a dollar a month you get early access to chapters! An entire month in advance before I post them here! Five bucks gets you two, count ‘em two, chapters of an exclusive Self Insert short (complete with original artwork in every chapter)! https://www.patreon.com/metallover  
> There’s a Discord channel you can join to chat, too! It’s pretty… uh… well, chaotic sometimes, but it’s hella fun. Join us here: https://discord.gg/nErmeAh  
> Check it all out, links are all on my bio page, as well! Thanks for reading, and Nagaspeed!


End file.
